AT  URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 

IN  MEMORY  OF 
STEWART  S.  HOWE 
JOURNALISM  CLASS  OF  1928 

STEWART  S.  HOWE  FOUNDATION 

823 
C381  c 
1862 


CHRONICLES 


OF  THE 

SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


By  MRS.  ANDREW  CHARLES, 


NEW  YORK 

aiTRST  & COMPANY.  Publishers 


CONTENTS 


PART  L 

Else’s  Story.— Introduction  of  Herself  and  Chronicle— Her^01* 
Brother  Friedrich  [Fritz] — Her  Ancestry-^Otlier  Members 
of  the  Family  — Delicate  Irony— Martin  Luther  — Else’s 
Treasures j 

PART  II. 

Friedrich’s  Chronicle. — Sage  Reflections — Leaves  Home  for 
Erfurt— Gets  Lost  in  a Forest— A Gloomy  Night— Arrives 
at  Erfurt— The  University— Visits  Luther’s  Home  with  Him 
— Accident  to  Luther — Obtains  a Scholarship — Luther  Dan- 
gerously 111 25 

PART  III. 

Else’s  Chronicle. — Eva,  a Distant  Relative,  Introduced  Into 
the  Family — Discussions  Among  Them  Connected  with  the 
Event — Eva’s  Religion — Its  Peculiarity — Makes  a Deep  Im- 
pression— Legend  of  St.  Christopher 41 

PART  IV. 

Else’s  Chronicle  Continued. —Fritz  at  Home  Again— The 
Change  which  His  University  Life  is  Producing  m Him — 
Interesting  Family  Developments — Eva  Begins  Latin.  Ex- 
tract from  Friedrich’s  Chronicle. — More  of  Martin 
Luther — He  Discovers  a Latin  Bible  in  the  University 
Library— The  Plague  Breaks  Out  in  the  University — Luther 
Determines  to  Become  a Monk — The  Excitement  and  Dis- 
tress Among  His  Friends — His  Monkish  Life 50 

PART  V. 

Elbe’s  Chronicle. — A Terrible  Time — The  Plague  in  Eisenach 
— In  the  Family — Fritz’s  Attack  and  Recovery — Eva’s  Attack 
— Fritz’s  Interview  with  Her  when  Supposed  to  be  Dying  . . 70 

PART  VI. 

Friedrich’s  Story. — He  Becomes  an  Augustinian  Monk  in 
Luther’s  Cloister — What  he  Writes  from  there  January  20, 

1510 — The  Bible  Discovered  by  Luther  put  in  his  Hands — 

April  9th,  he  Finds  the  Missing  Part  of  Eva’s  Bible  Sentence 
— Frequent  References  to  Luther 78 


ii 


CONTENTS. 


PART  VII. 

PAGE. 

Elbe’s  Story. — Her  Mental  Conflicts  on  Account  of  Fritz — Her 
other  Brothers  Repudiate  Monks — More  of  Eva — Dr.  Tetzel 
— His  Sale  of  Indulgences — What  was  Thought  of  the  Matter 
— Eva’s  Legend  of  St.  Catherine — Else’s  Visit  to  the  Elector  91 

PART  VIII. 

Fritz’s  Story. — The  Vicar-General  Staupitz^Evangelical  In- 
struction Received  from  Him  and  His  Confessor — Fritz  is 
Ordered  to  Rome — Tauler’s  Sermons — Augustine’s  Manu- 
script Confessions — Finds  His  Companion  to  Rome  is  to  be 
Martin  Luther — Luther  tells  him  about  his  Beginning  to 
Preach — Their  Journey  to  Rome-r-Luther  and  Staupitz — The 
Light  Breaking  on  Fritz’s  Mind — A Benedictine  Monastery 
— Rome  Reached 109 

PART  IX. 

Else’s  Story. — The  Family  Leave  for  Wittenberg — Their  New 
Place  of  Residence  and  Relations — Their  Journey  from 
Eisenach — More  of  Eva — The  Mystery — Plays  Acted  in  the 
Churches — Eva  Decides  on  Being  a Nun 129 

PART  X. 

Fritz’s  Story. — The  Monks  at  Rome — Festivals  and  Sacred 
Ceremonies — Holy  Relics — Luther’s  Strange  Conduct  at  the 
Holy  Staircase — Corruption  and  Wickedness  of  the  Holy 
City — Inquiries  Concerning  their  Pilgrimage.  Eva’s  Story 
— Her  Life  at  the  Convent — Sister  Beatrice — Aunt  Agnes. . . 148 

PART  XI. 

Else’s  Story. — Home  Life — The  Father’s  Latest  Invention — 
Ulrich  Von  Gersdorf  and  Chriemhild — Herr  Reichenbach — 
More  of  Luther — His  Instructions  to  Else  and  her  New  Re- 
ligious Experiences — Her  Betrothal  to  Herr  Reichenbach — 
Luther’s  Debate  in  Favor  of  the  Bible — His  Opinions  Deeply 
Impressing  Other  Minds 166 

PART  XII. 

Eva’s  Story. — Convent  Life — Luther  Appointed  Deputy  Vicar- 
General — His  Evangelical  Sentiments — Aunt  Agnes.  Else’s 
Story. — Chriemhild  and  Ulrich  Married — The  Plague  at 
Wittenberg — Letter  from  Dr.  Luther — Tetzel  and  a Speci- 
men of  his  Indulgences — Repudiated  by  Luther — Luther’s 
Sermon  Before  the  Elector 185 

PART  XIII. 

Else’s  Story  Continued. — November  1,  1517 — Luther’s  Theses 
Against  Indulgences — Their  Effect  on  the  Community — The 
Students  Burn  Tetzel’s  Answer  to  Luther.  Fritz’s  Story. 


CONTENTS . 


ill 


Page. 

— A Review — His  Mission  Through  Germany — A Priest  and 
Woman — Gets  Unlooked-for  News  in  the  Thuringian  Forest 
— Luther’s  Theses  at  Tubingen  — Philip  Melancthon  at 
Wittenberg — Fritz  Visits  His  Home — Placed  at  the  Monas- 
tery at  Mainz — John  Wesel . 202 

PART  XIV. 

Else’s  Story. — Family  Events  Since  She  Last  Wrote — Luther 
and  Melancthon — Their  Relations  to,  and  Opinions  of  each 
Other — Luther’s  Appeal  to  the  Emperor — Melancthon’s  Wife 
— Luther  Publishes  Another  Work,  “The  Babylonish  Cap- 
tivity”— His  “Appeal  to  the  Nobility”  — December  10, 

1520 — The  Plot  Thickens — Luther  Burns  the  Decretals  and 
the  Pope’s  Bull  Against  Himself — Public  Excitement  and 
Condition  of  Wittenberg.  Eva’s  Story. — She  Reads  the 
Bible  to  Others  in  the  Convent — Its  Effect — Discovers  that 
Her  Father  was  a Hussite — Luther’s  Last  Book  in  the  Con- 
vent— His  Commentary  on  the  Psalms  Appears — Fritz  Im- 
prisoned at  Mainz — His  Letter  to  His  Friends — Its  Effect 
Upon  Eva 220 

PART  XV. 

Thekla’s  Story. — Luther  Takes  His  Departure  for  Worms — 

Her  Attachment  to  Him  for  His  Religious  Instructions — How 
the  Others  Felt — Luther’s  Triumphal  Journey — He  Preaches 
at  Erfurt.  Fritz’s  Story. — Cause  of  His  Imprisonment — 

His  Escape  from  Prison  and  Reception  at  the  Castle  of 
Ebernburg — An  Attempt  to  Discourage  Luther  from  Going 
to  Worms — It  Fails — Affecting  Incidents  of  His  Journey — 

His  Entry  Into  Worms — His  Appearance  Before  the  Diet — 

His  Mental  Conflict  that  Night — Second  Appearance  Before 
the  Diet — Result — He  Suddenly  Disappears — His  Friends  Fear 
the  Worst — Fritz  Becomes  a Hawker  of  Luther’s  Writings..  258 

PART  XVI. 

Fritz’s  Story — .His  Success  in  Selling  Luther’s  Publications — 
Sentiments  Concerning  Luther  Among  the  Different  Classes 
He  Fell  in  With — Fritz  at  Paris — At  Basil — Ulrich  von  Hut- 
ten — Interview  with  Erasmus  at  Zurich — Zwingle — What 
the  Swiss  Thought  of  Luther — Fritz  in  Prison  at  Franconia 
— Priest  Ruprecht  and  His  Woman  Again.  Thekla’s 
Story. — Fritz  Escapes — Chriemhild  and  Ulrich — Condition 
of  the  Peasants — Luther  is  Discovered — His  Refuge  at  the 
Castle  of  Wartburg — There  Engaged  in  Translating  the 
Bible  into  German — Thekla  Reads  Portions  of  It  to  the  Peo- 
ple—A Letter  from  her  Lover  Bertrand 259 

PART  XVII. 

Eva’s  Story. — She  Receives  some  Sheets  of  Luther’s  German 
Bible — Its  Effect  in  the  Convent — Luther’s  Theses  Against 
Monastic  Life  Reach  Her — Monks  Returning  to  Ordinary 


IV 


CONTENTS, 


Page. 

Life — Several  of  the  Younger  Nuns  Abjuring  Convent  Life 
— Eva  Hesitates — She  Hears  of  Fritz’s  Imprisonment — Death 
of  Beatrice — Eva  Prepares  to  Escape  from  the  Convent. 
Else’s  Story. — Indulgences  Again  for  Sale  at  Halle  — 
Luther’s  Safety  and  Place  of  Refuge  Becomes  Privately 
Known — His  New  Protest  Against  Indulgence-mongers — Its 
Effect — Augustine  Monks  Abandoning  Monkish  Life — Effect 
of  the  Proceeding — Domestic  Matters  — The  Sacramental 
Supper  Observed  in  German — The  Mother  Leads  the  Way — 

The  Zwickau  Prophets — Another  Cause  of  Excitement — 

Eva  Finally  Reaches  Home 287 

PART  XVIII. 

Elbe’s  Story. — Luther  Reappears  in  Wittenberg — He  Meets  the 
People  Again  in  the  Pulpit — The  Scene — His  Sermon — Its 
Effect — Other  Sermons  and  Their  Effect — A Family  Discus- 
sion— Luther  and  Zwickian  Prophets — They  Leave  Witten- 
berg. Atlantis’  Story. — Concerning  Herself — Her  Copy 
of  Kessler’s  Narrative:  The  Black  Bear  Inn;  Luther  in  Dis- 
guise; His  Place  of  Refuge  Discovered.  Eva’s  Story. — 
Wittenberg  and  Her  Friends — September  21,  1522 — The 
German  New  Testament  Published.  Thekla’s  Story. — 
Hears  Again  from  Bertrand — More  of  the  German  New  Tes- 
tament— A Scene — Fritz  Suddenly  Appears  Among  Them, 
Having  Escaped  from  Prison.  Fritz’s  Story. — December 
1,  1522 — He  and  Eva  Become  Betrothed,  and  in  a Few 
Weeks  to  be  Married — The  Relations  of  Monkish  and  Con- 
vent Life  to  this  Event— Their  Future  Home — What  Eva 
has  to  Say.  Else’s  Story. — The  Interest  taken  in  the  Mar- 
riage of  Fritz  and  Eva — Atlantis  and  Conrad — A Visit  of 
Hussites — The  Pairs  Married — Their  Departure  from  Home 
— Nine  of  Eva’s  Friends  Escape  from  the  Convent — Cather- 
ine von  Bora  the  Guest  of  the  Cottas 305 

PART  XIX. 

Eva’s  Story. — Their  Life  Among  the  People — Chriemhild  and 
Ulrich — Priest  Ruprecht  Reappears — The  Woman  Bertha 
Brought  to  Fritz’s  House — The  Priest  and  Woman  Married. 
Else’s  Story — Death  of  the  Grandmother — Troublous  Times 
— Uneasiness  among  the  Peasantry — The  Zwickau  Prophets 
Again— The  Peasants  in  Open  Revolt — How  Fritz  and  Luther 
Act — The  Revolt  Suppressed — Luther  and  Catherine  von 
Bora  the  Escaped  Nun — The  Elector’s  Death — Its  Effect — 
Luther  and  Catherine  Married,  June  23,  1525 — Thekla’s 
Lover,  Bertrand,  Dies  in  Prison — Divisions  Among  Reform- 
ed Christians — Luther  and  his  Home — Else  Visits  Eva;  Par- 
sonage Scenes — The  Gersdorfs— Fritz  at  Home.  Tiibkla’s 
Story. — Her  Sore  Trial  in  the  Loss  of  Bertrand 345 


CONTENTS. 


v 


PART  XX. 

Page. 

Else’s  Story. — A Convent  Becomes  a Nursery— Luther  as  a 
Father  and  Husband — His  Differences  with  Others  of  the  Re- 
formers— His  Interest  in  Children — His  Love  for  a Daughter 
— Germany  and  Luther  Thekla’s  Story  —Effect  of  Her 
Affliction — Her  School — Christmas — Luther’s  Favorite  Child 
Sickens  and  Dies.  The  Mother’s  Story. — What  She  Says 
of  Her  Children 374 

PART  XXI. 

Eva’s  and  Agnes’  Story.  — A Lutheran  Home.  Tiiekla’s 
Story. — Luther — He  Completes  his  Commentary  on  Genesis 
— Affecting  Incident  Connected  with  It — He  Goes  toEisleben 
— His  Wife’s  Foreboding — Letters  to  Her — He  Succeeds  in 
his  Mission,  the  Adjustment  of  Differences  among  his 
Friends.  Fritz’s  Story. — Of  Luther’s  Visit  to  them  at 
Eisleben — Interesting  Interview — Concern  about  Luther’s 
Health — February  18,  1543,  Luther  taken  Suddenly  111  and 
Dies — His  Last  Hours.  Else’s  Story. — Luther’s  Funeral, 
and  Honors  Paid  to  his  Memory — Conclusion  of  the  Family 
History 403 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


PAST  I. 
else’s  story. 

Friedrich  wishes  me  to  write  a chronicle  of  my  life. 
Friedrich  is  my  eldest  brother.  I am  sixteen,  and  he  is 
seventeen,  and  I have  always  been  in  the  habit  of  doing 
what  he  wishes;  and  therefore,  although  it  seems  to  me  a 
very  strange  idea,  I do  so  now.  It  is  easy  for  Friedrich  to 
write  a chronicle,  or  anything  else,  because  he  has  thoughts. 
But  I have  so  few  thoughts,  I can  only  write  what  I see 
and  hear  about  people  and  things.  And  that  is  certainly 
very  little  to  write  about,  because  everything  goes  on  so 
much  the  same  always  with  us.  The  people  around  me 
are  the  same  I have  known  since  I was  a baby,  and  the 
things  have  changed  very  little;  except  that  the  people  are 
more,  because  there  are  so  many  little  children  in  our  home 
now,  and  the  things  seem  to  me  to  become  less,  because  my 
father  does  not  grow  richer;  and  there  are  more  to  clothe 
and  feed.  However,  since  Fritz  wishes  it,  I will  try;  es- 
pecially as  ink  and  paper  are  the  two  things  which  are 
plentiful  among  us,  because  my  father  is  a printer. 

Fritz  and  I have  never  been  separated  all  our  lives  until 
now.  Yesterday  he  went  to  the  university  at  Erfurt.  It 
was  when  I was  crying  at  the  thought  of  parting  with  him 
that  he  told  me  his  plan  about  the  chronicle.  He  is  to 
write  one,  and  I another.  He  said  it  would  be  a help  to 
him,  as  our  twilight  talk  has  been — when  always,  ever  since 
I can  remember,  we  two  have  crept  away,  in  summer  into 
the  garden,  under  the  great  pear  tree,  and  in  winter  into 
the  deep  window  of  the  lumber-room  inside  my  father’s 

Note. — The  first  portions  of  the  Chronicle,  before  the  Reformation 
openly  commenced,  are  necessarily  written  from  a Roman  Catholic 
point  of  view. 


2 


THE  SG HON  BERG-GO  TTA  FAMILY. 


printing-room,  where  the  bales  of  paper  are  kept,  and  old 
books  are  piled  up,  among  which  we  used  to  make  ourselves 
a seat. 

It  may  be  a help  and  comfort  to  Fritz,  but  I don’t  see 
how  it  ever  can  be  any  to  me.  He  had  all  the  thoughts, 
and  he  will  have  them  still;  but  I,  what  shall  I have  for  his 
voice  and  his  dear  face,  but  cold,  blank  paper,  and  no 
thoughts  at  all!  Besides,  I am  so  very  busy,  being  the 
eldest;  and  the  mother  is  far  from  strong,  and  the  father 
so  often  wants  me  to  help  him  at  his  types,  or  to  read  to 
him  while  he  sets  them..  However,  Fritz  wishes  it,  and  I 
shall  do  it.  I wonder  what  his  chronicle  will  be  like! 

But  where  am  I to  begin.  What  is  a chronicle?  Four 
of  the  books  in  the  Bible  are  called  Chronicles  in  Latin,  and 
the  first  book  begins  with  Adam,  I know,  because  I read  it 
one  day  to  my  father  for  his  printing.  But  Fritz  certainly 
cannot  mean  me  to  begin  as  far  back  as  that.  Of  course,  I 
could  not  remember.  I think  I had  better  begin  with  the 
oldest  person  I know,  because  she  is  the  furthest  on  the 
way  back  to  Adam;  and  that  is  our  grandmother  Von 
Schonberg.  She  is  very  old — more  than  sixty — but  her  form 
is  so  erect,  and  her  dark  eyes  so  piercing,  that  sometimes 
she  looks  almost  younger  than  her  daughter,  our  precious 
mother,  who  is  often  bowed  down  with  ill-health  and  cares. 

Our  grandmother’s  father  was  of  a noble  Bohemian 
family,  and  that  is  what  links  us  with  the  nobles,  although 
my  father’s  family  belongs  to  the  burgher  class.  Fritz  and 
I iike  to  look  at  the  old  seal  of  our  grandfather  Von  Schon- 
berg, with  all  its  quarterings,  and  to  hear  the  tales  of  our 
knightly  and  soldier  ancestors — of  crusader  and  baron.  My 
mother,  indeed,  tells  us  this  is  a mean  pride,  and  that  my 
father’s  printing-press  is  a symbol  of  a truer  nobility  than 
any  crest  of  battle-axe  or  sword;  but  our  grandmother,  I 
know,  thinks  it  a great  condescension  for  a Schonberg  to 
have  married  into  a burgher  family.  Fritz  feels  with  my 
mother,  and  says  the  true  crusade  will  be  waged  by  our 
father’s  black  types  far  better  than  by  our  great-grand- 
father’s lances.  But  the  old  warfare  was  so  beautiful,  with 
the  prancing  horses  and  the  streaming  banners!  And  I 
cannot  help  thinking  it  would  have  been  pleasanter  to  sit 
at  the  window  of  some  grand  old  castle  like  the  Wartburg, 
which  towers  above  our  town,  and  wave  my  hand  to  Fritz, 


THE  SGHONB  ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


3 


as  he  rode,  in  flashing  armor,  on  his  war-horse,  down  the 
steep  hillside,  instead  of  climbing  up  on  piles  of  dusty 
books  at  our  lumber-room  window,  and  watching  him,  in 
his  humble  burgher  dress,  with  his  wallet  (not  too  well 
filled),  walk  down  the  street,  while  no  one  turned  to  look. 
Ah,  well!  the  parting  would  have  been  as  dreary,  and  Fritz 
himself  could  not  be  nobler.  Only  I cannot  help  seeing 
that  people  do  honor  the  bindings  and  the  gilded  titles,  in 
spite  of  all  my  mother  and  Fritz  can  say;  and  I should  like 
my  precious  book  to  have  such  a binding,  that  the  people 
who  could  not  read  the  inside,  might  yet  stop  to  look  at  the 
gold  clasps  and  the  jeweled  back.  To  those  who  can  read 
the  inside,  perhaps  it  would  not  matter.  For  of  all  the  old 
barons  and  crusades  my  grandmother  tells  us  of,  I know 
well  none  ever  were  or  looked  nobler  than  our  Fritz.  His 
eyes  are  not  blue,  like  mine — which  are  only  German 
Cotta  eyes,  but  dark  and  flashing.  Mine  are  very  good  for 
seeing,  sewing,  and  helping  about  the  printing;  but  his,  I 
think,  would  penetrate  men’s  hearts  and  command  them, 
or  survey  a battlefield  at  a glance. 

Last  week,  however,  when  I said  something  of  the  kind 
to  him,  he  laughed  and  said  there  were  better  battlefields 
than  those  on  which  men’s  bones  lay  bleaching;  and  then 
there  came  that  deep  look  into  his  eyes,  when  he  seems  to 
see  into  a world  beyond  my  reach. 

But  I began  with  our  grandmother,  and  here  I am  think- 
ing about  Friedrich  again.  I am  afraid  that  will  be  the 
beginning  and  the  end  of  my  chronicle.  Fritz  has  been 
nearly  all  the  world  to  me0  I wonder  if  that  is  why  he  is 
to  leave  me.  The  monks  say  we  must  not  love  any  one  too 
much;  and  one  day,  when  we  went  to  see  Aunt  Agnes,  my 
mother’s  only  sister,  who  is  a nun  in  the  convent  of 
Nimptschen,  I remember  her  saying  to  me  when  I had  been 
admiring  the  flowers  in  the  convent  garden,  “ Little  Else, 
will  you  come  and  live  with  us,  and  be  a happy,  blessed 
sister  here?” 

I said,  “ Whose  sister,  Aunt  Agnes?  I am  Fritz’s  sister! 
May  Fritz  come  too?” 

“Fritz  could  go  into  the  monastery  at  Eisenach,”  she 
said. 

“Then  I would  go  with  him,”  I said.  “I  am  Fritz’s 
sister,  and  I would  go  nowhere  in  the  world  without  him.” 

She  looked  on  me  with  a cold,  grave  pity,  and  murmured 


4 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


“Poor  little  one,  she  is  like  her  mother;  the  heart  learns  to 
idolize  early.  She  has  much  to  unlearn.  God’s  hand  is 
against  all  idols.” 

That  is  many  years  ago;  but  I remember,  as  if  it  were 
yesterday,  how  the  fair  convent  garden  seemed  to  me  all  at 
once  to  grow  dull  and  cheerless  at  her  words  and  her  grave 
looks,  and  I felt  it  damp  and  cold,  like  a churchyard;  and 
the  flowers  looked  like  made  flowers;  and  the  walls  seemed 
to  rise  like  the  walls  of  a cave,  and  I scarcely  breathed  until 
I was  outside  again,  and  had  hold  of  Fritz’s  hand. 

For  I am  not  at  all  religious.  I am  afraid  I do  not  even 
wish  to  be.  All  the  religious  men  and  women  I have  ever 
seen  do  not  seem  to  me  half  so  sweet  as  my  poor  dear 
mother;  nor  as  kind,  clever,  and  cheerful  as  my  father;  nor 
half  as  noble  and  good  as  Fritz.  And  the  lives  of  the 
saints  puzzle  me  exceedingly,  because  it  seems  to  me  that 
if  every  one  were  to  follow  the  example  of  St.  Catherine, 
and  even  our  own  St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary,  and  disobey 
their  parents,  and  leave  their  little  children,  it  would  make 
everything  so  very  wrong  and  confused.  I wonder  if  any 
one  else  ever  felt  the  same,  because  these  are  thoughts  I 
have  never  even  told  to  Fritz;  for  he  is  religious,  and  I am 
afraid  it  would  pain  him. 

Our  grandmother’s  husband  fled  from  Bohemia  on  ac- 
count of  religion;  but  I am  afraid  it  was  not  the  right  kind 
of  religion,  because  no  one  seems  to  like  to  speak  about  it; 
and  what  Fritz  and  I know  about  him  is  only  what  we  have 
picked  up  from  time  to  time,  and  put  together  for  ourselves. 

Nearly  a hundred  years  ago,  two  priests  preached  in 
Bohemia,  called  John  Huss  and  Jerome  of  Prague.  They 
seem  to  have  been  dearly  beloved,  and  to  have  been  thought 
good  men  during  their  lifetime;  but  people  must  have 
been  mistaken  about  them,  for  they  were  both  burned  alive 
as  heretics  at  Constance  in  two  following  years — in  1415  and 
1416;  which  of  course  proves  that  they  could  not  have  been 
good  men,  but  exceedingly  bad. 

However,  their  friends  in  Bohemia  *would  not  give  up 
believing,  what  they  had  learned  of  these  men,  although  they 
had  seen  what  end  it  led  to.  I do  not  think  this  was  strange, 
because  it  is  so  very  difficult  to  make  one’s  self  believe 
what  one  ought,  as  it  is,  and  I do  not  see  that  the  fear  of 
being  burned  even  would  help  one  to  do  it;  although,  cer- 


THE  SCHONBEBG-COTT A FAMILY. 


5 


tainly,  it  might  keep  one  silent.  But  these  friends  of  John 
Huss  were  many  of  them  nobles  and  great  men,  who  were 
not  accustomed  to  conceal  their  thoughts,  and  they  would 
not  be  silent  about  what  Huss  had  taught  them.  What 
this  was  Fritz  and  I never  could  find  out,  because  my 
grandmother,  who  answers  all  our  other  questions,  never 
would  tell  us  a word  about  this.  We  are,  therefore,  afraid 
it  must  be  something  very  wicked  indeed.  And  yet,  when 
I asked  one  day  if  our  grandfather,  who,  we  think,  had 
followed  Huss,  was  a wicked  man,  her  eyes  flashed  like 
lightning  and  she  said  vehemently: 

“ Better  never  lived  or  died !” 

This  perplexes  us,  but  perhaps  we  shall  understand  it, 
like  so  many  other  things,  when  we  are  older. 

Great  troubles  followed  on  the  death  of  Huss.  Bohemia 
was  divided  into  three  parties,  who  fought  against  each 
other.  Castles  were  sacked,  and  noble  women  and  little 
children  were  driven  into  caves  and  forests.  Our  forefathers 
were  among  the  sufferers.  In  1458  the  conflict  reached  its 
height;  many  were  beheaded,  hung,  burned  alive,  or  tor- 
tured. My  grandfather  was  killed  as  he  was  escaping,  and 
my  grandmother  encountered  great  dangers,  and  lost  all  the 
little  property  which  was  left  her,  in  reaching  Eisenach,  a 
$oung  widow  with  two  little  children,  my  mother  and  Aunt 
Agnes. 

Whatever  it  was  that  my  great-grandfather  believed 
wrong,  his  wife  did  not  seem  to  share  it.  She  took  refuge 
in  the  Augustinian  convent,  where  she  lived  until  my 
Aunt  Agnes  took  the  veil,  and  my  mother  was  married, 
when  she  came  to  live  with  us.  She  is  as  fond  of  Fritz  as 
I am,  in  her  way;  although  she  scolds  us  all  in  turn,  which 
is  perhaps  a good  thing,  bebause,  as  she  says,  no  one  else 
does.  And  she  has  taught  me  nearly  all  I know,  except 
the  apostles’  creed  and  ten  commandments,  which  our 
father  taught  us,  and  the  paternoster  and  ave  Mary  which  we 
learned  at  our  mother’s  knee.  Fritz,  of  course,  knows  in- 
finitely more  than  I do.  He  can  say  the  Cisio  Janus  (the 
church  calendar)  through  without  one  mistake,  and  also 
the  Latin  grammar,  I believe;  and  he  has  read  Latin  books 
of  which  I cannot  remember  the  names;  and  he  understands 
all  that  the  priests  read  and  sing,  and  can  sing  himself  as 
well  as  any  of  them. 

But  the  legends  of  the  saints,  and  .the  multiplication 


6 


THE  SOHO N BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


table,  and  the  names  of  herbs  and  flowers,  and  the  account 
of  the  holy  sepulcher,  and  of  the  pilgrimage  to  Rome — 
all  these  our  grandmother  has  taught  us.  She  looks  so 
beautiful,  our  dear  old  grandmother,  as  she  sits  by  the 
stove  with  her  knitting,  and  talks  to  Fritz  and  me,  with 
her  lovely  white  hair  and  her  dark  bright  eyes,  so  full  of 
life  and  youth,  they  make  us  think  of  the  fire  on  the 
hearth  when  the  snow  is  on  the  roof,  all  warm  within,  or, 
as  Fritz  says: 

“It  seems  as  if  her  heart  lived  always  in  the  summer,  and 
the  winter  of  old  age  could  only  touch  her  body.” 

But  I think  the  summer  in  which  our  grandmother’s 
soul  lives  must  be  rather  a fiery  kind  of  summer,  in  which 
there  are  lightnings  as  well  as  sunshine.  Fritz  thinks  we 
shall  know  her  again  at  the  resurrection  day  by  that  look 
in  her  eyes,  only  perhaps  a little  softened.  But  that  seems 
to  me  terrible,  and  very  far  off;  and  I do  not  like  to  think 
of  it.  We  often  debate  which  of  the  saints  she  is  like.  I 
think  St.  Anna,  the  mother  of  Mary,  mother  of  God,  but 
Fritz  thinks  St.  Catherine  of  Egypt*,  because  she  is  so  like 
a queen. 

Besides  all  this,  I had  nearly  forgotten  to  say  I know  the 
names  of  several  of  the  stars,  which  Fritz  taught  me.  And 
I can  knit  and  spin,  and  do  point  stitch,  and  embroider  a 
little.  I intend  to  teach  it  all  to  the  children.  There  are 
a great  many  children  in  our  home,  and  more  every  year. 
If  there  had  not  been  so  many,  I might  have  had  time  to 
learn  more,  and  also  to  be  more  religious;  but  I cannot 
see  what  they  would  do  at  home  if  I were  to  have  a voca- 
tion. Perhaps  some  of  the  younger  ones  may  be  spared  to 
become  saints.  I wonder  if  this  should  turn  out  to  be  so, 
and  if  I help  them,  if  any  one  ever  found  some  little  hum- 
ble place  in  heaven  for  helping  some  one  else  to  be  religious! 
Because  then  there  might  perhaps  be  hope  for  me  after  all. 

Our  father  is  the  wisest  man  in  Eisenach.  The  mother 
thinks,  perhaps,  in  the  world.  Of  this,  however,  our 
grandmother  has  doubts.  She  has  seen  other  places  beside 
Eisenach,  which  is  perhaps  the  reason.  He  certainly  is  the 
wisest  man  I ever  saw.  He  talks  about  more  things  that  I 
cannot  understand  than  any  one  else  I know.  He  is  also  a 
great  inventor.  He  thought  of  the  plan  of  printing  books 
before  any  one  else,  and  had  almost  completed  the  inven- 


TEE  8CH0N  BERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


? 


lion  before  any  press  was  set  up.  And  he  always  believed 
there  was  another  world  on  the  other  side  of  the  great  sea, 
long  before  the  Admiral  Christopher  Columbus  discovered 
America.  The  only  misfortune  has  been  that  some  one 
else  has  always  stepped  in  just  before  he  had  completed  his 
inventions,  when  nothing  but  some  little  insignificant  de- 
tail was  wanting  to  make  everything  "perfect,  and  carried 
off  all  the  credit  and  profit.  It  is  this  which  has  kept  us 
from  becoming  rich — this  and  the  children.  But  the 
father’s  temper  is  so  placid  and  even,  nothing  ever  sours  it. 
And  this  is  what  makes  us  all  admire  and  love  him  so 
much,  even  more  than  his  great  abilities.  He  seems  to  re- 
joice in  these  successes  of  other  people  just  as  much  as  if 
he  had  quite  succeeded  in  making  them  himself.  If  the 
mother  laments  a little  over  the  fame  that  might  have  been 
his  he  smiles  and  says: 

“Never  mind,  little  mother.  It  will  be  all  the  same  a 
hundred  years  hence.  Let  us  not  grudge  any  one  his  re- 
ward. The  world  has  the  benefit  if  we  have  not.” 

Then  if  the  mother  sighs  a little  over  the  scanty  larder 
and  wardrobe,  he  replies: 

“ Cheer  up,  little  mother,  there  are  more  Americas  yet 
to  be  discovered,  and  more  inventions  to  be  made.  In 
fact,”  he  adds,  with  that  deep,  far-seeing  look  of  his, 
“something  else  has  just  occurred  to  me,  which,  when  I 
have  brought  it  to  perfection,  will  throw  all  the  discoveries 
of  this  and  every  other  age  into  the  shade.” 

And  he  kisses  the  mother  and  departs  into  his  printing- 
room.  And  the  mother  looks  wonderingly  after  him,  and 
says: 

“ We  must  not  disturb  the  father,  children,  with  our  lit- 
tle cares.  He  has  great  things  in  his  mind,  which  we  shall 
all  reap  the  harvest  of  some  day.” 

So  she  goes  to  patch  some  little  garment  once  more,  and 
to  try  to  make  one  day’s  dinner  expand  into  enough  for 
two. 

What  the  father’s  great  discovery  is  at  present,  Fritz  and 
I do  not  quite  know.  But  we  think  it  has  something  to  do, 
either  with  the  planets  and  the  stars,  or  with  that  wonder- 
ful stone  the  philosophers  have  been  so  long  occupied 
about.  In  either  case,  it  is  sure  to  make  us  enormously 
rich  all  at  once;  and,  meantime,  we  may  well  be  content 
to  eke  out  our  living  as  best  we  can. 


8 


THE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Of  the  mother  I cannot  think  of  anything  to  say.  She 
is  just  the  mother — our  own  dear,  patient,  loving,  little 
mother — unlike  every  one  else  in  the  world;  and  yet  it 
seems  as  if  there  was  nothing  to  say  about  her  by  which 
one  could  make  any  one  else  understand  what  she  is.  It 
seems  as  if  she  were  to  other  people  (with  reverence  I say 
it)  just  what  the  blessed  mother  of  God  is  to  the.  other 
saints.  St.  Catherine  has  her  wheel  and  her  crown,  and 
St.  Agnes  her  lamb  and  her  palm,  and  St.  Ursula  her  eleven 
thousand  virgins;  but  Mary,  the  ever-blessed,  has  only  the 
Holy  Child.  She  is  the  blessed  woman,  the  holy  mother  and 
nothing  else.  That  is  just  what  the  mother  is.  She  is  the 
precious  little  mother,  and  the  best  woman  in  the  world, 
and  that  is  all.  I could  describe  her  better  by  saying  what 
she  is  not.  She  never  says  a harsh  word  to  any  one  or  of 
any  one.  She  is  never  impatient  with  the  father,  like  our 
grandmother.  She  is  never  impatient  with  the  children, 
like  me.  She  never  complains  or  scolds.  She  is  never  idle. 
She  never  looks  severe  and  cross  at  us,  like  Aunt  Agnes. 
But  I must  not  compare  her  with  Aunt  Agnes,  because  she 
herself  once  reproved  me  for  doing  so;  she  said  Aunt 
Agnes  was  a religious,  a pure,  and  holy  woman,  far,  far 
above  her  sphere  or  ours;  and  we  might  be  thankful,  if  we 
ever  reached  heaven,  if  she  let  us  kiss  the  hem  of  her 
garment. 

Yes,  Aunt  Agnes  is  a holy  woman — a nun;  I must  be 
careful  what  I say  of  her.  She  makes  long,  long  prayers, 
they  say — so  long  that  she  has  been  found  in  the  morning 
fainting  on  the  cold  floor  of  the  convent  church.  She  eats 
so  little  that  Father  Christopher,  who  is  the  convent  con- 
fessor and  ours,  says  he  sometimes  thinks  she  must  be 
sustained  by  angels.  But  Fritz  and  I think  that,  if  that  is 
true,  the  angels’  food  cannot  be  very  nourishing;  for  when 
we  saw  her  last,  through  the  convent  grating,  she  looked 
like  a shadow  in  her  black  robe,  or  like  that  dreadful  pic- 
ture of  death  we  saw  in  the  convent  chapel.  She  wears 
the  coarsest  sackcloth,  and  often,  they  say,  sleeps  on  ashes. 
One  of  the  nuns  told  my  mother,  that  one  day  when  she 
fainted,  and  they  had  to  unloose  her  dress,  they  found  scars 
and  stripes,  scarcely  healed,  on  her  fair  neck  and  arms, 
which  she  must  have  inflicted  on  herself.  They  all  say  she 
will  have  a very  high  place  in  heaven;  but  it  seems  to  me, 


THE  SCHb'NB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


9 


unless  there  is  a very  great  difference  between  the  highest 
and  lowest  places  in  heaven,  it  is  a great  deal  of  trouble  to 
take.  But,  then,  I am  not  religious;  and  it  is  altogether 
so  exceedingly  difficult  to  me  to  understand  about  heaven. 
Will  every  one  in  heaven  be  always  struggling  for  the  high 
places?  Because  when  every  one  does  that  at  church  on 
the  great  festival  days,  it  is  not  at  all  pleasant;  those  who 
succeed  look  proud,  and  those  who  fail  look  cross.  But,  of 
course,  no  one  will  be  cross  in  heaven,  nor  proud.  Then 
how  will  the  saints  feel  who  do  not  get  the  highest  places? 
Will  they  be  pleased  or  disappointed? 

If  they  are  pleased,  what  is  the  use  of  struggling  so 
much  to  climb  a little  higher?  And  if  they  are  not 
pleased,  would  that  be  saint-like?  Because  the  mother 
always  teaches  us  to  choose  the  lowest  places,  and  the  eldest 
to  give  up  to  the  little  ones.  Will  the  greatest,  then,  not 
give  up  to  the  little  ones  in  heaven?  Of  one  thing  I feel 
sure:  if  the  mother  had  a high  place  in  heaven,  she  would 
always  be  stooping  down  to  help  some  one  else  up,  or  mak- 
ing room  for  others.  And  then,  what  are  the  highest 
places  in  heaven?  At  the  emperor’s  court,  I know,  they 
are  the  places  nearest  him;  the  seven  electors  stand  close 
around  the  throne.  But  can  it  be  possible  that  any  would 
ever  feel  at  ease,  and  happy  so  very  near  the  Almighty? 
It  seems  so  exceedingly  difficult  to  please  Him  here,  and 
so  very  easy  to  offend  Him,  that  it  does  seem  to  me  it 
would  be  happier  to  be  a little  further  off,  in  some  little  quiet 
corner  near  the  gate,  with  a good  many  of  the  saints  be- 
tween. The  other  day,  Father  Christopher  ordered  me 
such  a severe  penance  for  dropping  a crumb  of  the  sacred 
Host;  although  I could  not  help  thinking  it  was  as  much  the 
priest’s  fault  as  mine.  But  he  said  God  would  be  exceed- 
ingly displeased;  and  Fritz  told  me  the  priests  fast  and 
torment  themselves  severely  sometimes,  for  only  omitting 
a word  in  the  mass. 

Then  the  awful  picture  of  the  Lord  Christ,  with  the 
lightnings  in  his  hand!  It  is  very  different  from  the  carv- 
ing of  him  on  the  cross.  Why  did  he  suffer  so?  Was  it, 
like  Aunt  Agnes,  to  get  a higher  place  in  heaven?  or,  per- 
haps to  have  the  right  to  be  severe,  as  she  is  with  us? 
Such  very  strange  things  seem  to  offend  and  please  God,  I 
cannot  understand  it  at  all;  but  that  is  because  I have  no 
vocation  for  religion.  In  the  convent,  the  mother  says, 
they  grow  like  God,  and  so  understand  him  better. 


10 


TI1E  SGH ONBEU G-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


Is  Aunt  Agnes,  then,  more  like  God  than  onr  mother? 
That  face,  still  .and  pale  as  death;  those  cold,  severe  eyes; 
that  voice,  so  hollow  and  monotonous,  as  if  it  came  from  a 
metal  tube  or  a sepulcher,  instead  of  from  a heart!  Is  it 
with  that  look  God  will  meet  us,  with  that  kind  of  voice 
he  will  speak  to  us?  Indeed,  the  judgment  day  is  very 
dreadful  to  think  of;  and  one  must  indeed  need  to  live 
many  years  in  the  convent  not  to  he  afraid  of  going  to 
heaven. 

Oh,  if  only  our  mother  were  the  saint — the  kind  of  good 
woman  that  pleased  God — instead  of  Aunt  Agnes,  how 
sweet  it  would  be  to  try  and  be  a saint  then;  and  how  sure 
one  would  feel  that  one  might  hope  to  reach  heaven,  and 
that,  if  one  reached  it,  one  would  be  happy  there! 

Aunt  Ursula  Cotta  is  another  of  the  women  I wish  were 
the  right  kind  of  saint.  She  is  my  father’s  first  cousin’s 
wife;  but  we  have  always  called  her  annt,  because  almost 
all  little  children  who  know  her  do — she  is  so  fond  of  chil- 
dren, and  so  kind  to  every  one.  She  is  not  poor  like  us, 
although  Cousin  Conrad  Cotta  never  made  any  discoveries, 
or  even  nearly  made  any.  There  is  a picture  of  St,  Eliza- 
beth, of  Thuringia,  our  sainted  landgravine,  in  our  parish 
church,  which  always  makes  me  think  of  xlunt  Ursula. 
St.  Elizabeth  is  standing  at  the  gate  of  a beautiful  castle, 
something  like  our  castle  of  the  Wartburg,  and  around  her 
are  kneeling  a crowd  of  very  poor  people — cripples,  and 
blind,  and  poor  thin  mothers,  with  little  hungry-looking 
children — all  stretching  out  their  hands  to  the  lady,  who 
is  locking  on  with  such  kindly,  compassionate  looks,  just 
like  Aunt  Ursula;  except  that  St.  Elizabeth  is  very  thin 
and  pale,  and  looks  almost  as  nearly  starved  as  the  beggars 
around  hei,  and  Aunt  Ursula  is  rosy  and  fat,  with  the 
pleasantest  dimples  in  her  round  face.  But  the  look  in  the 
eyes  is  the  same — so  loving,  and  true,  and  earnest,  and  com- 
passionate. The  thinness  and  pallor  are,  of  course,  only 
just  the  difference  there  must  be  between  a saint  who 
fasts,  and  does  so  much  penance,  and  keeps  herself  awake 
whole  nights  saying  prayers,  as  St.  Elizabeth  did,  and  a 
prosperous  burgher’s  wife,  who  eats  and  sleeps  like  other 
people,  and  is  only  like  the  good  landgravine  in  being  so 
kind  to  every  one. 

The  other  half  of  the  story  of  the  picture,  howeveiy 


THE  SCUOJSl BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


11 


would  not  do  for  Aunt  Ursula.  In  the  apron  of  the  saint, 
instead  of  loaves  of  bread  are  beautiful  clusters  of  red  roses. 
Our  grandmother  told  us  the  meaning  of  this.  The  good 
landgravine’s  husband  did  not  quite  like  her  giving  so 
much  to  the  poor;  because  she  was  so  generous  she  would 
have  left  the  treasury  bare.  So  she  used  to  give  her  alms 
unknown  to  him.  But  on  this  day  when  she  was  giving 
away  those  loaves  to  the  beggar  at  the  castle  gate,  he  hap- 
pened suddenly  to  return,  and  finding  her  occupied  in  this 
way,  he  asked  her  rather  severely  what  she  had  in  her 
apron.  She  said  “ Boses!” 

“Let  me  see,”  said  the  landgrave. 

And  God  loved  her  so  much,  that  to  save  her  from  being 
blamed,  he  wrought  a miracle.  When  she  opened  her 
apron,  instead  of  the  loaves  she  had  been  distributing, 
there  were  beautiful  flowers.  And  this  is  what  the  picture 
represents.  I always  wanted  to  know  the  end  of  the  story. 
I hope  God  worked  another  miracle  when  the  landgrave 
went  away,  and  changed  the  roses  back  into  loaves.  I sup- 
pose He  did,  because  the  starving  people  look  so  contented. 
But  our  grandmother  does  not  know.  Only  in  this,  I do 
not  think  Aunt  Ursula  would  have  done  the  same  as  the 
landgravine.  I think  she  would  have  said  boldly  if 
Cousin  Cotta  had  asked  her,  “I  have  loaves  in  my  apron, 
and  1 am  giving  them  to  these  poor  starving  subjects  of 
yours  and  mine,”  and  never  been  afraid  of  what  he  would 
say.  And  then,  perhaps,  Cousin  Cotta — I mean  the  land- 
grave’s— heart  would  have  been  so  touched,  that  he  would 
have  forgiven  her,  and  even  praised  her,  and  brought  her 
some  more  loaves.  And  then  instead  of  the  bread  being 
changed  to  flowers,  the  landgrave’s  heart  would  have  been 
changed  from  stone  to  flesh,  which  does  seem  a better 
thing.  But  when  I once  said  this  to  grandmother,  she 
said  it  was  very  wrong  to  fancy  other  ends  to  the  legends 
of  the  saints,  just  as  if  they  were  fairy  tales;  that  St. 
Elizabeth  really  lived  in  that  old  castle  of  the  Wartburg 
little  more  than  a hundred  years  ago,  and  walked  through 
those  very  streets  of  Eisenach,  and  gave  aims  to  the  poor 
here,  and  went  into  the  hospitals,  and  dressed  the  most 
loathsome  wounds  that  no  one  else  would  touch,  and  spoke 
tender,  loving  words  to  wretched  outcasts  no  one  else  would 
look  at.  That  seems  to  me  so  good  and  dear  of  her;  but 
that  is  not  what  made  her  a saint,  because  Aunt  Ursula  and 


12 


THE  SGHONBEkO-COTTA  FAMILY. 


our  mother  do  things  like  that,  and  our  mother  has  told  me 
again  and  again  that  it  is  Aunt  Agnes  who  is  like  the  saint 
and  not  she. 

It  is  what  she  suffered,  I suppose,  that  has  made  them 
put  her  in  the  calendar;  and  yet  it  is  not  suffering  in  itself 
that  makes  people  saints,  because  I don’t  believe  St.  Eliza- 
beth herself  suffered  more  than  our  mother.  It  is  true  she 
used  to  leave  her  husband’s  side  and  kneel  all  night  on  the 
cold  floor,  while  he  was  asleep.  But  the  mother  has  done 
the  same  as  that  often  and  often.  When  any  of  the  little 
ones  has  been  ill,  how  often  she  has  walked  up  and  down 
hour  after  hour,  with  the  sick  child  in  her  arms,  soothing 
and  fondling  it,  and  quieting  all  its  fretful  cries  with  un- 
wearying, tender  patience.  Then  St.  Elizabeth  fasted  until 
she  was  almost  a shadow;  but  how  often  have  1 seen  our 
mother  quietly  distribute  all  that  was  nice  and  good  in  our 
frugal  meals  to  my  father  and  the  children,  scarcely  leaving 
herself  a bit,  and  hiding  her  plate  behind  a dish  that  the 
father  might  not  see.  And  Fritz  and  I often  say  how 
wasted  and  worn  she  looks;  not  like  the  mother  of  mercy 
as  we  remember  her,  but  too  much  like  the  wan,  pale 
Mother  of  Sorrows  with  the  pierced  heart.  Then  as  to 
pain,  have  not  I seen  our  mother  suffer  pain  compared  with 
which  Aunt  Agnes  or  St.  Elizabeth’s  discipline  must  be 
like  the  prick  of  a pin? 

But  yet  all  that  is  not  the  right  kind  of  suffering  to 
make  a saint.  Our  precious  mother  walks  up  and  down  all 
night  not  to  make  herself  a saint,  but  to  soothe  her  sick 
child.  She  eats  no  dinner,  not  because  she  chooses  to 
fast,  but  because  wa  are  poor,  and  bread  is  dear.  She 
suffers,  because  God  lays  suffering  upon  her,  not  because 
she  takes  it  on  herself.  And  all  this  cannot  make  her  a 
saint.  When  I say  anything  to  compassionate  or  to  honor 
her,  she  smiles  and  says: 

“ My  Else,  I chose  this  lower  life  instead  of  the  high  vo- 
cation of  your  Aunt  Agnes,  and  I must  take  the  conse- 
quences. We  cannot  have  our  portion  both  in  this  world 
and  the  next.” 

If  the  size  of  our  mother’s  portion  in  the  next  world 
were  to  be  in  proportion  to  its  smallness  in  this,  I think  she 
might  have  plenty4  to  spare;  but  this  I do  not  venture  to 
say  to  her. 

There  is  one  thing  St.  Elizabeth  did  which  certainly  our 


THE  SGH ONB  ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY. 


13 


mother  would  never  do.  She  left  her  little  fatherless  chil- 
dren to  go  into  a convent.  Perhaps  it  was  this  that  pleased 
. God  and  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  so  very  much,  that  they 
took  her  up  to  be  so  high  in  heaven.  If  this  is  the  case,  it 
is  a great  mercy  for  our  father  and  for  us  that  our  mother 
has  not  set  her  heart  on  being  a saint.  We  sometimes 
think,  however,  that  perhaps  although  He  cannot  make 
her  a saint  on  account  of  the  rules  they  have  in  heaven 
about  it,  God  may  give  our  mother  some  little  good  thing, 
or  some  kind  word,  because  of  her  being  so  very  good  to  us. 
She  says  this  is  no  merit,  however,  because  it  is  her  loving 
us  so  much.  If  she  loved  us  less,  and  so  found  it  more  a 
trouble  to  work  for  us;  or  if  we  were  little  stranger  beggar 
children  she  chose  to  be  kind  to,  instead  of  her  own,  I sup- 
pose God  would  like  it  better. 

There  is  one  thing,  moreover,  in  St.  Elizabeth’s  history 
which  once  brought  Eritz  and  me  into  great  trouble  and 
perplexity.  When  we  were  little  children,  and  did  not 
understand  things  as  we  do  now,  but  thought  we  ought  to 
try  and  imitate  the  saints,  and  that  what  was  right  for 
them  must  be  right  for  us,  and  when  our  grandmother  had 
been  telling  us  about  the  holy  landgravine  privately  selling 
her  jewels,  and  emptying  her  husband’s  treasury  to  feed 
the  poor,  we  resolved  one  day  to  go  and  do  likewise.  We 
knew  a very  poor  old  woman  in  the  next  street,  with  a 
great  many  orphan  grandchildren,  and  we  planned  a long 
time  together  before  we  thought  of  the  way  to  help  her  like 
St.  Elizabeth.  At  length  the  opportunity  came.  It  was 
Christmas  eve,  and  for  a rarity  there  were  some  meat,  and 
apples,  and  pies  in  our  storeroom.  We  crept  into  the 
room  in  the  twilight,  filled  our  aprons  with  pies,  and  meat, 
and  cakes,  and  stole  out  to  our  old  woman’s  to  give  her  our 
booty. 

The  next  morning  the  larder  was  found  despoiled  of  half 
of  what  was  to  have  been  our  Christmas  dinner.  The  chil- 
dren cried,  and  the  mother  looked  almost  as  distressed  as 
they  did.  The  father’s  placid  temper  for  once  was  roused, 
and  he  cursed  the  cat  and  the  rats,  and  wished  he  had 
completed  his  new  infallible  rat  trap.  Our  grandmother 
said  very  quietly:. 

“Thieves  more  discriminating  than  rats  or  mice  have 
been  here.  There  are  no  crumbs,  and  not  a thing  is  out  of 
place.  Besides,  I never  heard  of  rats  or  mice  eating  pie- 
aishes.” 


14 


THE  SCIIO N BERG -CO TTA  FAMILY . 


Fritz  and  I looked  at  each  other,  and  began  to  fear  we 
had  done  wrong,  when  little  Christopher  said : 

“I  saw  Fritz  and  Else  carry  out  the  pies  last  night.” 
“Else!  Fritz!”  said  our  father,  “what  does  this  mean?” 
I would  have  confessed,  but  I remembered  St.  Elizabeth 
and  the  roses,  and  said,  with  a trembling  voice: 

“They  were  not  pies  you  saw,  Christopher,  but  roses.” 
“Roses,”  said  the  mother  very  gravely,  “at  Christmas!” 
I almost  hoped  the  pies  would  have  reappeared  on  the 
shelves.  It  was  the  very  juncture  at  which  they  did  in  the 
legend;  but  they  did  not.  On  the  contrary  everything 
seemed  to  turn  against  us. 

“Fritz,”  said  our  father,  very  sternly,  “tell  the  truth,  or 
I shall  give  you  a flogging.” 

This  was  a part  of  the  story  where  St.  Elizabeth’s  ex- 
ample quite  failed  us.  I did  not  know  what  she  would 
have  done  if  some  one  else  had  been  punished  for  her  gen- 
erosity; but  I felt  no  doubt  what  I must  do. 

“ Oh,  father !”  I said,  “ it  is  my  fault — it  was  my  thought ! 
We  took  these  things  to  the  poor  old  woman  in  the  next 
street  for  her  grandchildren.” 

“Then  she  is  no  better  than  a thief,”  said  our  father, 
“to  have  taken  them.  Fritz  and  Else,  foolish  children, 
shall  have  no  Christmas  dinner  for  their  pains;  and  Else 
shall,  moreover,  be  locked  into  her  own  room,  for  telling  a 
story.” 

1 was  sitting  shivering  in  my  room,  wondering  how  it 
was  that  things  succeeded  so  differently  with  St.  Elizabeth 
and  with  us,  when  Aunt  Ursula’s  round,  pleasant  voice 
sounded  up  the  stairs,  and  in  another  minute  she  was  hold- 
ing me  laughing  in  her  arms. 

“My  poor  little  Else!  We  must  wait  a little  before  we 
imitate  our  patron  saint;  or  we  must  begin  at  the  other 
end.  It  would  never  do,  for  instance,  for  me  to  travel  to 
Rome  with  eleven  thousand  young  ladies  like  St. 
Ursula.” 

My  grandmother  had  guessed  the  meaning  of  our  foray, 
and  Aunt  Ursula  coming  in  at  the  time,  had  heard  the 
narrative,  and  insisted  on  sending  us  another  Christmas 
dinner.  Fritz  and  I secretly  believed  that  St.  Elizabeth 
had  a good  deal  to  do  with  the  replacing  of  our  Christmas 
dinner;  but  after  that,  we  understood  that  caution  was 
needed  in  transferring  the  holy  example  of  the  saints  to  our 


THE  SGHOJYB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


15 

own  lives,  and  that  at  present  we  must  nofc  venture  beyond 
the  ten  commandments. 

Yet  to  think  that  St.  Elizabeth,  a real  canonized  saint — 
whose  picture  is  over  altars  in  the  churches — whose  good 
deeds  are  painted  on  the  church  windows,  and  illumined  by 
the  sun  shining  through  them — whose  bones  are  laid  up  in 
reliquaries,  one  of  which  I wear  always  next  my  heart — 
actually  lived  and  prayed  in  that  dark  old  castle  above  us, 
and  walked  along  these  very  streets — perhaps  even  had  been 
seen  from  this  window  of  Fritz’s  and  my  beloved  lumber- 
room. 

Only  a hundred  years  ago!  If  only  I had  lived  a hun- 
dred years  earlier,  or  she  a hundred  years  later,  I might 
have  seen  her  and  talked  to  her,  and  asked  her  what  it  was 
that  made  her  a saint.  There  are  so  many  questions  I 
should  like  to  have  asked  her.  I would  have  said,  “Dear 
St.  Elizabeth,  tell  me  Avhat  it  is  that  makes  you  a saint? 
It  cannot  be  your  charity,  because  no  one  can  be  more 
charitable  than  Aunt  Ursula,  and  she  is  not  a saint;  and  it 
cannot  be  your  sufferings,  or  your  patience,  or  your  love, 
or  your  denying  yourself  for  the  sake  of  others,  because  our 
mother  is  like  you  in  all  that,  and  she  is  not  a saint.  Was 
it  because  you  left  your  little  children*  that  God  loves  you 
so  much?  or  because  you  not  only  did  and  bore  the  things 
God  laid  on  you,  as  our  mother  does  but  chose  out  other 
things  for  yourself,  which  you  thought  harder?”  And  if 
she  were  gentle  (as  I think  she  was),  and  would  have  lis- 
tened, I would  have  asked  her,  “Holy  landgravine,  why 
are  things  which  were  so  right  and  holy  in  you,  wrong  for 
Fritz  and  me?”  And  1 would  also  have  asked  her,  “ Dear 
St.  Elizabeth,  my  patroness,  what  is  it  in  heaven  that 
makes  you  so  happy  there?” 

But  I forgot — she  would  not  have  been  in  heaven  at  all. 
She  would  not  even  have  been  made  a saint,  because  it  was 
only  after  her  death,  when  the  sick  and  crippled  were 
healed  by  touching  her  body,  that  they  found  out  what 
a saint  she  had  been.  Perhaps,  even,  she  would  not  her- 
self have  known  she  was  a saint.  And  if  so,  I wonder  if  it 
can  be  possible  that  our  mother  is  a saint  after  all,  only  she 
does  not  know  it! 

Fritz  and  I are  four  or  five  years  older  than  any  of  the 
children.  Two  little  sisters  died  of  the  plague  before  any 


16 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


more  were  born.  One  was  baptized,  and  died  when  she 
was  a year  old,  before  she  could  soil  her  baptismal  robes. 
Therefore  we  feel  sure  she  is  in  paradise.  I think  of  her 
whenever  I look  at  the  clond  of  glory  around  the  blessed 
Virgin  in  St.  George’s  church.  Out  of  the  cloud  peep  a 
number  of  happy  child-faces — some  leaning  their  round 
soft  cheeks  on  their  pretty  dimpled  hands,  and  all  looking 
up  with  such  confidence  at  the  dear  mother  of  God.  I 
suppose  the  little  children  in  heaven  especially  belong  to 
her.  It  must  be  very  happy,  then,  to  have  died  young. 

But  of  that  other  little  nameless  babe  who  died  at  the 
same  time  none  of  us  ever  dare  to  speak.  It  was  not  bap- 
tized, and  they  say  the  souls  of  little  unbaptized  babes 
hover  about  forever  in  the  darkness  between  heaven  and 
hell.  Think  of  the  horror  of  falling  from  the  loving  arms 
of  our  mother  into  the  cold  and  the  darkness,  to  shiver  and 
wail  there  forever,  and  belong  to  no  one.  At  Eisenach 
we  have  a Foundling  hospital,  attached  to  one  of  the  nun- 
neries founded  by  St.  Elizabeth,  for  such  forsaken  little 
ones.  If  St.  Elizabeth  could  only  establish  a Foundling 
somewhere  near  the  gates  of  paradise  for  such  little  name- 
less outcast  child-souls!  But  I suppose  she  is  too  high  in 
heaven,  and  too  far  from  the  gates  to  hear  the  plaintive 
cries  of  such  abandoned  little  ones.  Or  perhaps  God,  who 
was  so  much  pleased  with  her  for  deserting  her  own  little 
children,  would  not  allow  it.  I suppose  the  saints  in 
heaven  who  have  been  mothers,  or  even  elder  sisters  like 
me,  leave  their  mother’s  hearts  on  earth,  and  that  in  para- 
dise they  are  all  monks  and  nuns  like  Aunt  Agnes  and 
Father  Christopher. 

Next  to  that  little  nameless  one  came  the  twin  girls 
Chriemhild,  named  after  our  grandmother,  and  Atlantis,  so 
christened  by  our  father  on  account  of  the  discovery  of  the 
great  world  beyond  the  sea,  which  he  had  so  often  thought 
of,  and  which  the  great  admiral,  Christopher  Columbus, 
accomplished  about  that  time.  Then  the  twin  boys  Boni- 
face Pollux  and  Christopher  Castor;  their  names  being  a 
compromise  between  our  father,  who  was  struck  with  some 
remarkable  conjunction  of  their  stars  at  their  birth,  and 
my  mother,  who  thought  it  only  right  to  counterbalance 
such  pagan  appellations  with  names  written  in  heaven. 
Then  another  boy,  who  only  lived  a few  weeks;  and  then 
the  present  baby,  Thekla,  who  is  the  plaything  and  darling 
of  us  all. 


THE  SC  HO  NB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


17 


. These  are  nearly  all  the  people  I know  well,  except,  in- 
deed, Martin  Luther,  the  miner’s  son,  to  whom  Aunt 
Ursula  Cotta  has  been  so  kind.  He  is  dear  to  us  all  as  one 
of  our  own  family.  He  is  about  the  same  age  as  Fritz,  who 
thinks  there  is  ho  one  like  him.  And  he  has  such  a voice, 
and  is  so  religious,  and  yet  so  merry  withal;  at  least  at 
times.  It  was  his  voice  and  his  devout  ways  which  first 
drew  Aunt  Ursula’s  attention  to  him.  She  had  seen  him 
often  at  the  daily  prayers  at  church.  He  used  to  sing  as  a 
chorister  with  the  boys  of  the  Latin  school  of  the  parish  of 
St.  George,  where  Fritz  and  he  studied.  The  ringing  ton^s 
of  his  voice,  so  clear  and  true,  often  attracted  Aunt 
Ursula’s  attention;  and  he  always  seemed  so  devout.  But 
we  knew  little  about  him.  He  was  very  poor,  and  had  a 
pinched,  half-starved  look  when  first  we  noticed  him. 
Often  I have  seen  him  on  the  cold  winter  evenings  singing 
about  the  streets  for  alms,  and  thankfully  receive  a few 
pieces  of  broken  bread  and  meat  at  the  doors  of  the  citi  - 
zens;  for  he  was  never  a bold  and  impudent  beggar  as  some 
of  the  scholars  are.  Our  acquaintance  with  him,  however, 
began  one  day  which  I remember  well.  I was  at  Aunt 
Ursula’s  house  which  is  in  George  street,  near  the  church 
and  school.  I had  watched  the  choir  of  boys  singing  from 
door  to  door  through  the  street.  No  one  had  given  them 
anything:  they  looked  disappointed  and  hungry.  At  last 
they  stopped  before  the  window  where  Aunt  Ursula  and  I 
were  sitting  with  her  little  boy.  That  clear,  high,  ringing 
voice  was  there  again.  Aunt  Ursula  went  to  the  door  and 
called  Martin  in,  and  then  she  went  herself  to  the  kitchen, 
and  after  giving  him  a good  meal  himself,  sent  him  away 
with  his  wallet  full,  and  told  him  to  come  again  very  soon. 
After  that,  I suppose  she  consulted  with  Cousin  Conrad 
Cotta,  and  the  result  was  that  Martin  Luther  became  an 
inmate  of  their  house,  and  has  lived  among  us  familiarly 
since  then  like  one  of  our  own  cousins. 

He  is  wonderfully  changed  since  that  day.  Scarcely  any 
one  would  have  thought  then  what  a joyous  nature  his  is. 
The  only  thing  in  which  it  seemed  then  to  flow  out  was 
in  his  clear  true  voice.  He  was  subdued  and  timid  like  a 
creature  that  had  been  brought  up  without  love.  Especially 
he  used  to  be  shy  with  young  maidens,  and  seemed  afraid 
to' look  in  a woman’s  face.  I think  they  must  have  been 
Very  severe  with  him  at  home.  Indeed,  he  confessed  to 


18 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Fritz  that  he  had  often,  as  a child,  been  beaten  till  the 
blood  came,  for  trifling  offenses,  such  as  taking  a nut,  and 
that  he  was  afraid  to  play  in  his  parents’  presence.  And* 
yet  he  would  not  bear  a word  reflecting  on  his  parents.  He 
says  his  mother  is  the  most  pious  woman  in  Mansfeld, 
where  his  family  live,  and  his  father  denies  himself  in  every 
way  to  maintain  and  educate  his  children,  especially  Martin, 
who  is  to  be  the  learned  man  of  the  family.  His  parents 
are  inured  to  hardship  themselves,  and  believe  it  to  be  the 
best  early  discipline  for  boys.  Certainly  poor  Martin  had 
enough  of  hardship  here.  But  that  may  be  the  fault  of 
his  mother’s  relations  at  Eisenach,  who,  they  hoped,  would 
have  been  kind  to  him,  but  who  do  not  seem  to  have  cared 
for  him  at  all.  At  one  time  he  told  Fritz  he  was  so 
pinched  and  discouraged  by  the  extreme  poverty  he  suffered, 
that  he  thought  of  giving  up  study  in  despair,  and  return- 
ing to  Mansfeld  to  work  with  his  father  at  the  smelting 
furnaces,  or  in  the  mines  under  the  mountains.  Yet  in- 
dignant tears  start  to  his  eyes  if  any  one  ventures  to  hint 
that  his  father  might  have  done  more  for  him.  He  was  a 
poor  digger  in  the  mines,  he  told  Fritz,  and  often  he  had 
seen  his  mother  carrying  firewood  on  her  shoulders  from 
the  pine  woods  near  Mansfeld. 

But  it  was  in  the  monastic  schools,  no  doubt,  that  he 
learned  to  be  so  shy  and  grave.  He  had  been  taught  to 
look  on  married  life  as  a low  and  evil  thing;  and,  of  course, 
we  all  know  it  cannot  be  so  high  and  pure  as  the  life  in  the 
convent.  I remember  now  his  look  of  wonder  when  Aunt 
Ursula,  who  is  not  fond  of  monks,  said  to  him  one  day, 
“There  is  nothing  on  earth  more  lovely  than  the  love  of 
husband  and  wife,  when  it  is  in  the  fear  of  God.’b. 

In  the  warmth  of  her  bright  and  sunny  heart,  his  whole 
nature  seemed  to  open  like  the  flowers  in  summer.  And 
now  there  is  none  in  all  our  circle  so  popular  and  sociable 
as  he  is.  He  plays  on  the  lute,  and  sings  as  we  think  no 
one  else  can.  And  our  children  all  love  him,  he  tells  them 
such  strange,  beautiful  stories  about  enchanted  gardens  and 
crusaders,  and  about  his  own  childhood,  among  the  pine 
forests  and  the  mines. 

It  is  from  Martin  Luther,  indeed,  that  I have  heard  more 
than  from  any  one  else,  except  from  our  grandmother,  of 
the  great  world  beyond  Eisenach.  He  has  lived  already  in 
three  other  towns,  so  that  he  is  quite  a traveler,  and 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


19 


knows  a great  deal  of  the  world,  although  he  is  not  yet 
twenty.  Our  father  has  certainly  told  us  wonderful  things 
about  the  great  islands  beyond  the  seas  which  the  Admiral 
Columbus  discovered,  and  which  will  one  day,  he  is  sure, 
be  found  to  he  only  the  other  side  of  the  Indies  and  Tokay 
and  Araby.  Already  the  Spaniards  have  found  gold  in 
those  islands,  and  our  father  has  little  doubt  that  they  are 
the  Ophir  from  which  King  Solomon’s  ship  brought  the 
gold  for  the,  temple.  Also,  he  has  told  us  about  the 
strange  lands  in  the  south,  in  Africa,  where  the  dwarfs  live, 
and  the  black  giants,  and  the  great  hairy  men  who  climb 
the  trees  and  make  nests  there,  and  the  dreadful  men- 
eaters,  and  the  people  who  have  their  heads  between  their 
shoulders.  But  we  have  not  yet  met  with  any  one  who  has 
seen  all  these  wonders,  so  that  Martin  Luther  and  our 
grandmother  are  the  greatest  travelers  Fritz  and  I are 
acquainted  with. 

Martin  was  born  at  Eisleben.  His  mother’s  is  a burgher 
family.  Three  of  her  brothers  live  here  at  Eisenach  and 
here  she  was  married.  But  his  father  came  of  a peasant 
race.  His  grandfather  had  a little  farm  of  his  own  at 
Mora,  among  the  Thuringian  pine  forests;  but  Martin’s 
father  was  the  second  son;  their  little  property  went  to  the 
eldest,  and  he  became  a miner,  went  to  Eisleben,  and  then 
settled  at  Mansfeld,  near  the  Hartz  mountains,  where  the 
silver  and  copper  lie  buried  in  the  earth. 

At  Mansfeld  Martin  Luther  lived  until  he  was  nineteen. 
I should  like  to  see  the  place.  It  must  be  so  strange  to 
watch  the  great  furnaces,  where  they  fuse  the  copper  and 
smelt  the  precious  silver,  gleaming  through  the  pine  woods, 
for  they  burn  all  through  the  night  in  the  clearings  of  the 
forest.  When  Martin  was  a little  boy  he  may  have  watched 
by  them  with  his  father,  who  now  has  furnaces  and  a foun- 
dry of  his  own.  Then  there  are  the  deep  pits  under  the 
hills,  out  of  which  come  from  time  to  time  troops  of  grim- 
looking  miners.  Martin  is  fond  of  the  miners;  they  are 
such  a brave  and  hearty  race,  and  they  have  fine  bold  songs 
and  choruses  of  their  own  which  he  can  sing,  and  wild, 
original  pastimes.  Chess  is  a favorite  game  with  them. 
They  are  thoughtful,  too,  as  men  may  well  be  who  dive 
into  the  secrets  of  the  earth.  Martin,  when  a boy,  has  often 
gone  into  the  dark,  mysterious  pits  and  winding  caverns 
with  them,  and  seen  the  veins  of  precious  ore.  He  has 


20 


THE  SCHONBERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


also  often  seen  foreigners  of  various  nations.  They  come 
from  all  parts  of  the  world  to  Mansfeld  for  silver — from 
Bavaria  and  Switzerland,  and  even  from  the  beautiful 
Venice,  which  is  a city  of  palaces,  where  the  streets  are 
canals  filled  by  the  blue  sea,  and  instead  of  wagons  they  use 
boats,  from  which  people  land  on  the  marble  steps  of  the 
palaces.  All  these  things  Martin  has  heard  described  by 
those  who  have  really  Seen  them,  besides  what  he  has  seen 
himself.  His  father  also  frequently  used  to  have  the 
schoolmasters  and  learned  men  at  his  house,  that  his  sons 
might  profit  by  their  wise  conversation.  But  I doubt  if  he 
can  have  enjoyed  this  so  much.  It  must  have  been  diffi- 
cult to  forget  the  rod  with  which  once  he  was  beaten  four- 
teen times  in  one  morning,  so  as  to  feel  sufficiently  at  ease 
to  enjoy  their  conversation.  Old  Count  Gunther  of 
Mansfeld  thinks  much  of  Martin’s  father,  and  often  used 
to  send  for  him  to  consult  him  about  the  mines. 

Their  house  at  Mansfeld  stood  at  some  distance  from  the 
schoolhouse,  which  was  on  the  hill,  so  that,  when  he  was 
little,  an  older  hoy  used  to  be  kind  to  him,  and  carry  him 
in  his  arms  to  school.  I dare  say  that  was  in  winter,  when 
his  little  feet  were  swollen  with  chilblains,  and  his  poor 
mother  used  to  go  up  to  the  woods  to  gather  faggots  for  the 
hearth. 

His  mother  must  be  a very  good  and  holy  woman,  but 
not,  I fancy,  quite  like  our  mother;  rather  more  like  Aunt 
Agnes.  I think  I should  have  been  rather  afraid  of  her. 
Martin  says  she  is  very  religious.  He  honors  and  loves  her 
very  much,  although  she  was  very  strict  with  him,  and 
once,  he  told  Fritz,  beat  him,  for  taking  a nut  from  their 
stores,  until  the  blood  came.  She  must  be  a brave,  truth- 
ful woman,  who  would  not  spare  herself  or  others;  but  I 
think  I should  have  felt  more  at  home  with  his  father,  who 
used  so  often  to  kneel  beside  Martin’s  bed  at  night,  and 
pray  God  to  make  him  a good  and  useful  man.  Martin’s 
father,  however,  does  not  seem  so  fond  of  the  monks  and 
nuns,  and  is  therefore,  I suppose,  not  so  religious  as  his 
mother  is.  He  does  not  at  all  wish  Martin  to  become  a 
priest  or  a monk,  but  to  be  a great  lawyer,  or  doctor,  or 
professor  at  some  university. 

Mansfeld,  however,  is  a very  holy  place.  There  are 
many  monasteries  and  nunneries  there,  and  in  one  of  them 
two  of  the  countesses  were  nuns.  There  is  also  a castle 


THE  SGHONB  ERG -CO  TTA  FAMILY. 


21 


there,  and  our  St.  Elizabeth  worked  miracles  there  as  well 
as  here.  The  devil  also  is  not  idle  at  Mansfeld.  A wicked 
old  witch  lived  close  to  Martin’s  house,  and  used  to  frighten 
and  distress  his  mother  much,  bewitching  the  children  so 
that  they  nearly  cried  themselves  to  death.  Once  even,  it 
is  said,  the  devil  himself  got  up  into  the  pulpit,  and 
preached,  of  course  in  disguise.  But  in  all  the  legends  it  is 
the  same.  The  devil  never  seems  so  busy  as  where  the 
saints  are,  which  is  another  reason  why  I feel  how  difficult 
it  would  be  to  be  religious. 

Martin  had  a sweet  voice,  and  loved  music  as  a child,  and 
he  used  often  to  sing  at  people’s  doors  as  he  did  here. 
Once,  at  Christmas  time,  he  was  singing  carols  from  village 
to  village  among  the  woods  with  other  boys,  when  a peasant 
came  to  the  door  of  his  hut,  where  they  were  singing,  and 
said  in  a loud,  gruff  voice,  “Where  are  you,  boys?”  The 
children  were  so  frightened  that  they  scampered  away  as 
fast  as  they  could,  and  only  found  out  afterward  that  the 
man  with  a rough  voice  had  a kind  heart,  and  had  brought 
them  out  some  sausages.  Poor  Martin  was  used  to  blows 
in  those  days,  and  had  good  reason  to  dread  them.  It 
must  have  been  pleasant,  however,  to  hear  the  boys’  voices 
caroling  through  the  woods  about  Jesus  born  at  Bethle- 
hem. Voices  echo  so  strangely  among  the  silent  pine 
forests. 

When  Martin  was  thirteen  he  left  Mansfeld  and  went  to 
Magdeburg,  where  the  archbishop  Ernest  lives,  the  brother 
of  our  elector,  who  has  a beautiful  palace,  and  twelve 
trumpeters  to  play  to  him  always  when  he  is  at  dinner. 
Magdeburg  must  be  a magnificent  city,  very  nearly,  we 
think,  as  grand  as  Rome  itself.  There  is  a great  cathedral 
there,  and  knights  and  princes  and  many  soldiers,  who 
prance  about  the  streets;  and  tournaments  and  splendid 
festivals.  But  our  Martin  heard  more  than  he  saw  of  all 
this.  He  and  John  Reineck  of  Mansfeld  (a  boy  older  than 
himself,  who  is  one  of  his  greatest  friends),  went  to  the 
school  of  the  Franciscan  cloister,  and  had  to  spend  their 
time  with  the  monks,  or  sing  about  the  streets  for  bread, 
or  in  the  churchyard  when  the  Franciscans  in  their  gray 
robes  went  there  to  fulfill  their  office  of  burying  the  dead. 
But  it  was  not  for  him,  the  miner’s  son,  to  complain,  when 
as  he  says,  he  used  to  see  a prince  of  Anhalt  going  about 
the  streets  in  a cowl  begging  bread,  with  a sack  on  his 


22 


THE  SCHONBEllG-COTTA  FAMIL  Y. 


shoulders  like  a beast  of  burden,  insomuch  that  he  was 
bowed  to  the*  ground.  The  poor  prince,  Martin  said,  had 
fasted  and  watched  and  mortified  his  flesh  until  he  looked 
like  an  image  of  death,  with  only  skin  and  bones.  Indeed, 
shortly  after  he  died. 

At  Magdeburg  also,  Martin  saw  the  picture  of  which  he 
has  often  told  us.  “A  great  ship  was  painted,  meant  to 
signify  the  church,  wherein  there  was  no  layman,  not  even 
a king  or  prince.  There  were  none  but  the  pope  with  his 
cardinals  and  bishops  in  the  prow,  with  the  Holy  Ghost 
hovering  over  them,  the  priests  and  monks  with  their  oars 
at  the  side;  and  thus  they  were  sailing  on  heavenward. 
The  laymen  were  swimming  along  in  the  water  around  the 
ship.  Some  of  them  were  drowning;  some  were  drawing 
themselves  up  to  the  ship  by  means  of  ropes,  which  the 
monks,  moved  with  pity,  and  making  over  their  own  good 
works,  did  cast  out  to  them  to  keep  them  from  drowning, 
and  to  enable  them  to  cleave  to  the  vessel  and  to  go  with 
the  others  to  heaven.  There  was  no  pope,  nor  cardinal, 
nor  bishop,  nor  priest,  nor  monk  in  the  water,  but  laymen 
only.” 

It  must  have  been  a very  dreadful  picture,  and  enough 
to  make  any  one  afraid  of  not  being  religious,  or  else  to 
make  one  feel  how  useless  it  is  for  any  one,  except  the 
monks  and  nuns,  to  try  to  be  religious  at  all.  Because 
however  little  merit  any  one  had  acquired,  some  kind  monk 
might  still  be  found  to  throw  a rope  out  of  the  ship  and 
help  him  in;  and,  however  many  good  works  any  layman 
might  do,  they  would  be  of  no  avail  to  help  him  out  of  the 
flood,  or  even  to  keep  him  from  drowning,  unless  he  had 
some  friend  in  a cloister. 

I said  Martin  was  merry;  and  so  he  is,  with  the  children, 
or  when  he  is  cheered  with  music  or  singing.  And  yet,  on 
the  whole,  I think  he  is  rather  grave,  and  often  he  looks 
very  thoughtful,  and  even  melancholy.  His  merriment 
does  not  seem  to  be  so  much  from  carelessness  as  from 
earnestness  of  heart,  so  that  whether  he  is  telling  a story  to 
the  little  ones,  or  singing  a lively  song,  his  whole  heart  is 
in  it — in  his  play  as  well  as  in  his  work. 

In  his  studies  Fritz  says  there  is  no  one  at  Eisenach  near 
him,  whether  in  reciting,  or  writing  prose  or  verse,  or  trans- 
lating, or  church  music. 

Master  Trebonius,  tlje  head  of  St.  George’s  school,  is  a 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


23 


very  learned  man  and  very  polite.  He  takes  off  his  hat, 
Fritz  says,  and  bows  to  his  scholars  when  he  enters  the 
school,  for  he  says  that  “ among  these  boys  are  burgo- 
masters, chancellors,  doctors,  and  magistrates.”  This  must 
be  very  different  from  the  masters  at  Mansfeld.  Master 
Trebonius  thinks  very  much  of  Martin.  I wonder  if  he 
and  Fritz  will  be  burgomasters  or  doctors  one  day. 

Martin  is  certainly  very  religious  for  a boy,  and  so  is 
Fritz.  They  attend  mass  very  regularly,  and  confession, 
and  keep  the  fasts. 

From  what  I have  heard  Martin  say,  however,  I think 
he  is  as  much  afraid  of  God  and  Christ  and  the  dreadful 
day  of  wrath  and  judgment  as  I am.  Indeed  I am  sure  he 
feels,  as  every  one  must,  there  would  be  no  hope  for  us 
were  it  not  for  the  blessed  mother  of  God  who  may  remind 
her  Son  how  she  nursed  and  cared  for  him  and  move  him 
to  have  some  pity. 

But  Martin  has  been  at  the  University  of  Erfurt  nearly 
two  years,  and  Fritz  has  now  left  us  to  study  there  with 
him,  and  we  shall  have  no  more  music,  and  the  children  no 
more  stories  until  no  one  knows  when. 

These  are  the  people  I know.  I have  nothing  else  to  say 
except  about  the  things  I possess,  and  the  place  we  live  in. 

The  things  are  easily  described.  I have  a silver  rel- 
iquary, with  a lock  of  the  hair  of  St.  Elizabeth  in  it. 
That  is  my  greatest  treasure.  I have  a black  rosary  with  a 
large  iron  cross  which  Aunt  Agnes  gave  me.  I have  a 
missal,  and  part  of  a volume  of  the  Nibelungen  Lied;  and 
besides  my  everyday  dress,  a black  taffetas  jacket  and  a 
crimson  stuff  petticoat,  and  two  gold  earrings,  and  a silver 
chain  for  holidays,  which  Aunt  Ursula  gave  me.  Fritz  and 
I between  us  have  also  a copy  of  some  old  Latin  hymns, 
with  wood-cuts,  printed  at  Nurnberg.  And  in  the  garden 
I have  two  rose  bushes,  and  I have  a wooden  crucifix  carved 
in  Borne  out  of  wood  which  came  from  Bethlehem,  and  in 
a leather  purse  one  gulden  my  godmother  gave  me  at  my 
christening;  and  that  is  all. 

The  place  we  live  in  is  Eisenach,  and  I think  it  a beauti- 
ful place.  But  never  having  seen  any  other  town,  perhaps 
I cannot  very  well  judge.  There  are  nine  monasteries  and 
nunneries  here,  many  of  them  founded  by  St.  Elizabeth. 
And  there  are  I do  not  know  how  many  priests.  In  the 
churches  are  some  beautiful  pictures  of  the  sufferings  and 


24 


TEE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


glory  of  the  saints,  and  painted  windows,  and  on  the 
altars  gorgeous  gold  and  silver  plate,  and  a great  many 
wonderful  relics  which  we  go  to  adorn  on  the  great  saints’ 
days. 

The  town  is  in  a valley,  and  high  above  the  houses  rises 
the  hill  on  which  stands  the  Wartburg,  the  castle  where  St. 
Elizabeth  lived.  I went  inside  it  once  with  oar  father  to 
take  some  books  to  the  elector.  The  rooms  were  beauti- 
fully furnished  with  carpets  and  velvet  covered  chairs.  A 
lady  dressed  in  silk  and  jewels,  like  St.  Elizabeth  in  the 
pictures,  gave  me  sweetmeats.  But  the  castle  seemed  to 
me  dark  and  gloomy.  I wondered  which  was  the  room  in 
which  the  proud  mother  of  the  landgrave  lived  who  was  so 
discourteous  to  St.  Elizabeth  when  she  came  a young 
maiden  from  her  royal  home  far  away  in  Hungary;  and 
which  was  the  cold  wall  against  which  she  pressed  her 
burning  brow,  when  she  rushed  through  the  castle  in  de- 
spair on  hearing  suddenly  of  the  death  of  her  husband. 

I was  glad  to  escape  into  the  free  forest  again,  for  all 
around  the  castle,  and  over  all  the  hills  as  far  as  we  can  see 
around  Eisenach,  it  is  forest.  The  tall  dark  pine  woods 
clothe  the  hills;  but  in  the  valleys  the  meadows  are  very 
green  beside  the  streams.  It  is  better  in  the  valleys  among 
the  wild  flowers  than  in  that  stern  old  castle,  and  I did  not 
wonder  so  much  after  being  there  that  St.  Elizabeth  built 
herself  a hut  in  a lowly  valley  among  the  woods,  and  pre- 
ferred to  live  and  die  there. 

It  is  beautiful  in  summer  in  the  meadows,  at  the  edge  of 
the  pine  woods,  when  the  sun  brings  out  the  delicious 
aromatic  perfume  of  the  pines,  and  the  birds  sing,  and  the 
rooks  caw.  I like  it  better  than  the  incense  in  St.  George’s 
church,  and  almost  better  than  the  singing  of  the  choir, 
and  certainly  better  than  the  sermons  which  are  so  often 
about  the  dreadful  fires  and  the  judgment  day,  or  the  con- 
fessional where  they  give  us  such  hard  penances.  The 
lambs,  and  the  birds,  and  even  the  insects,  seem  so  happy, 
each  with  its  own  little  bleat,  or  warble,  or  coo,  or  buzz  of 
content. 

It  almost  seems  then  as  if  Mary,  the  dear  mother  of  God, 
were  governing  the  world  instead  of  Christ,  the  Judge,  or 
the  Almighty  with  the  thunders.  Every  creature  seems  so 
blithe  and  so  tenderly  cared  for,  I cannot  help  feeling  bet- 
ter there  than  at  church.  But  that  is  because  I have  89 
little  religion, 


1HE  SCHONBERO-GOTTA  FAMILY . 


25 


PAET  II. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  FRIEDRICH’S  CHROXICLE. 

Erfurt,  1503. 

At  last  I stand  on  the  threshold  of  the  world  I have  so 
long  desired  to  enter.  Else’s  world  is  mine  no  longer;  and 
yet,  never  until  this  week  did  I feel  how  dear  that  little 
home-world  is  to  me.  Indeed,  heaven  forbid  I should 
have  left  it  finally.  I look  forward  to  return  to  it  again, 
never  more,  however,  as  a burden  on  our  parents,  but  as 
their  stay  and  support,  to  set  our  mother  free  from  the 
cares  which  are  slowly  eating  her  precious  life  away,  to  set 
our  father  free  to  pursue  his  great  projects,  and  to  make 
our  little  Else  as  much  a lady  as  any  of  the  noble  baron- 
esses our  grandmother  tells  us  of.  Although,  indeed,  as  it 
is,  when  she  walks  beside  me  to  church  on  holidays,  in  her 
crimson  dress,  with  her  round,  neat,  little  figure  in  the  black 
jacket  with  the  white  stomacher  and  the  silver  chains,  her 
fair  hair  so  neatly  braided,  and  her  blue  eyes  so  full  of  sun- 
shine— who  can  look  better  than  Else?  And  I can  see  I 
am  not  the  only  one  in  Eisenach  who  thinks  so.  I would 
only  wish  to  make  all  the  days  holidays  for  her,  and  that  it 
should  not  be  necessary  when  the  festival  is. over  for  my 
little  sister  to  lay  aside  all  her  finery  so  carefully  in  the 
great  chest,  and  put  on  her  Aschpiittel  garments  again,  so 
that  if  the  fairy  prince  we  used  to  talk  of  were  to  come,  he 
would  scarcely  recognize  the  fair  little  princess  he  had  seen 
at  church.  And  yet  no  fairy  prince  need  be  ashamed  of 
our  Else,  even  iu  her  working,  everyday  clothes;  he  cer- 
tainly would  not  be  the  right  one  if  he  were.  In  the  twi- 
light, when  the  day’s  work  is  done,  and  the  children  are 
asleep,  and  she  comes  and  sits  beside  me  with  her  knitting 
in  the  lumber-room  or  under  the  pear  tree  in  the  garden, 
what  princess  could  look  fresher  or  neater  than  Else,  with 
her  smooth  fair  hair  braided  like  a coronet?  Who  would 
think  that  she  had  been  toiling  all  day,  cooking,  washing, 
nursing  the  children?  Except,  indeed,  because  of  the 
healthy  color  her  active  life  gives  her  face,  and  for  that 
sweet  low  voice  of  hers,  which  I think  women  learn  best  by 
the  cradles  of  little  children. 

I suppose  it  is  because  I have  never  yet  seen  any  maiden 
***>  H compared  to  our  Else  that  I have  not  yet  fallen  iij 


26 


THE  BGIIONBE ll G-CO TTA  FAMILY. 


love.  And,  nevertheless,  it  is  not  of  such  a face  as  Else’s 
I dream,  when  dreams  come,  or  even  exactly  snch  as  my 
mother’s.  My  mother’s  eyes  are  dimmed  with  many  cares; 
is  it  not  that  very  worn  and  faded  brow  that  makes  her 
sacred  to  me?  More  sacred  than  any  saintly  halo!  And 
Else,  good,  practical  little  Else,  she  is  a dear  household 
fairy;  but  the  face  I dream  of  has  another  look  in  it. 
Else’s  eyes  are  good,  as  she  says,  for  seeing  and  helping; 
and  sweet,  indeed,  they  are  for  loving— dear,  kind,  true 
eyes.  But  the  eyes  I dream  of  have  another  look,  a fire 
like  our  grandmother’s,  as  if  from  a southern  sun;  dim, 
dreamy,  far-seeing  glances,  burning  into  hearts,  like  the 
ladies  in  the  romances,  and  yet  piercing  into  heaven,  like 
St.  Cecilia’s  when  she  stands  entranced  by  her  organ.  She 
should  be  a saint,  at  whose  feet  I might  sit  and  look  through 
her  pure  heart  into  heaven,  and  yet  she  should  love  me 
wholly,  passionately,  fearlessly,  devotedly,  as  if  her  heaven 
were  all  in  my  love.  My  love]  and  who  am  I that  I should 
haye  such  dreams?  A poor  burgher  lad  of  Eisenach,  a 
penniless  student  of  a week’s  standing  at  Erfurt!  The 
eldest  son  of  a large,  destitute  family,  who  must  not  dare  to 
think  of  loving  the  most  perfect  maiden  in  the  world,  when 
I meet  her,  until  I have  rescued  a father,  mother,  and  six 
brothers  and  sisters  from  the  jaws  of  biting  poverty.  And 
even  in  a dream  it  seems  almost  a treachery  to  put  any  poor 
creature  above  Else.  I fancy  I see  her  kind  blue  eyes  fill- 
ing with  reproachful  tears.  For  there  is  no  doubt  that  in 
Else’s  heart  I have  no  rival,  even  in  a dream.  Poor,  lov- 
ing, little  Else! 

Yes,  she  must  be  rescued  from  the  pressure  of  those 
daily  fretting  cares  of  penury  and  hope  deferred,  which 
have  made  our  mother  old  so  early.  If  I had  been  in  the 
father’s  place,  I could  never  have  borne  to  see  winter  creep- 
ing so  soon  over  the  summer  of  her  life.  But  he  does  not 
see  it.  Or  if  for  a moment  her  pale  face  and  the  gray  hairs 
which  begin  to  come  seem  to  trouble  him,  he  kisses  her 
forehead,  and  says: 

“But,  mother,  it  will  soon  be  over;  there  is  nothing 
wanting  now  but  the  last  link  to  make  this  last  invention 
perfect,  and  then ” 

And  then  he  goes  into  his  printing-room;  but  to  this 
day  the  missing  link  has  never  been  found.  Else  and  our 
mother,  however,  always  believe  it  will  turn  up  some  day. 


THE  SCHON  BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


a? 

Our  grandmother  has  doubts.  And  I have  scarcely  anj 
hope  at  all,  although,  for  all  the  world,  I would  not  breathe 
this  to  any  one  at  home.  To  me  that  laboratory  of  my 
fathers,  with  its  furnace,  its  models,  its  strange  machines, 
is  the  most  melancholy  place  in  the  world.  It  is  like  a 
haunted  chamber — haunted  with  the  helpless,  nameless 
ghosts  of  infants  that  have  died  at  their  birth — the  ghosts 
of  vain  and  fruitless  projects;  like  the  ruins  of  a city  that 
some  earthquake  had  destroyed  before  it  was  finished, 
ruined  palaces  that  were  never  roofed,  ruined  houses  that 
were  never  inhabited,  ruined  churches  that  were  never 
Avorshiped  in.  The  saints  forbid  that  my  life  should  be 
like  that!  and  yet  what  it  is  which  has  made  him  so 
unsuccessful,  I can  never  exactly  make  out.  He  is  no 
dreamer.  He  is  no  idler.  He  does  not  sit  lazily  down  with 
folded  arms  and  imagine  his  projects.  He  makes  his  cal- 
culations with  the  most  laborious  accuracy;  he  consults  all 
the  learned  men  and  books  he  has  access  to.  He  weighs 
and  measures,  and  constructs  the  neatest  models  possible. 
His  room  is  a museum  of  exquisite  models,  which  seem  as 
if  they  must  answer,  and  yet  never  do.  The  professors, 
and  even  the  elector’s  secretary,  who  has  come  more  than 
once  to  consult  him,  have  told  me  he  is  a man  of  remark- 
able genius. 

What  can  it  be,  then,  that  makes  his  life  such  a failure? 
I cannot  think;  unless  it  is  that  other  great  inventors  and 
discoverers  seem  to  have  made  their  discoveries  and  inven- 
tions as  it  were  by  the  way , in  the  course  of  their  everyday 
life.  As  a seaman  sails  on  his  appointed  voyage  to  some 
definite  port,  he  notices  driftwood  or  weeds  which  must 
have  come  from  unknown  lands  beyond  the  seas.  As  he 
sails  in  his  calling  from  port  to  port,  the  thought  is  always 
in  his  mind;  everything  he  hears  groups  itself  naturally 
around  this  thought;  he  observes  the  winds  and  currents; 
he  collects  information  from  mariners  who  have  been 
driven  out  of  their  course,  in  the  direction  where  he  believes 
this  unknown  land  to  lie.  And  at  length  he  persuades 
some  prince  that  his  belief  is  no  mere  dream,  and  like  the 
great  admiral,  Christopher  Columbus,  he  ventures  across 
the  trackless,  unknown  Atlantic  and  discovers  the  Western 
Indies.  But  before  he  was  a discoverer  he  was  a mariner. 

Or  some  engraver  of  wood-cuts  thinks  of  applying  his 
carved  blocks  to  letters,  and  the  printing-press  is  invented. 


28 


THE  8CE0NBEH0-C0TT A FAMILY. 


But  it  is  in  his  calling.  He  has  not  gone  out  of  his  way  to 
hunt  for  inventions.  He  has  found  them  in  his  path,  the 
path  of  his  daily  calling.  It  seems  to  me  people  do  not  be- 
come great,  do  not  become  discoverers  and  inventors  by 
trying  to  he  so,  hut  by  determining  to  do  in  the  very  best 
way  what  they  have  to  do.  Thus  improvements  suggest 
themselves,  one  by  one,  step  by  step;  each  improvement  is 
tested  as  it  is  made  by  practical  use,  until  at  length  the 
happy  thought  comes,  not  like  an  elf  from  the  wild  forests, 
hut  like  an  angel  on  the  daily  path;  and  the  little  improve- 
ments become  the  great  invention.  There  is  another  great 
advantage,  moreover,  in  this  method  over  our  father’s. 
If  the  invention  never  comes,  at  all  events  we  have  the  im- 
provements, which  are  worth  something.  Every  one  can- 
not invent  the  printing-press  or  discover  the  New  Indies; 
but  every  engraver  may  make  his  engravings  a little  better, 
and  every  mariner  may  explore  a little  further  than  his 
predecessors. 

Yet  it  seems  almost  like  treason  to  write  thus  of  our 
father.  What  would  Else  or  our  mother  think,  who  be- 
lieve there  is  nothing  but  accident  or  the  blindness  of  man- 
kind between  us  and  greatness?  Not  that  they  have 
learned  to  think  thus  from  our  father.  Never  in  my  life 
did  I hear  him  say  a grudging  or  depreciating  word  of  any 
of  those  who  have  most  succeeded  where  he  has  failed.  He 
seems  to  look  on  all  such  men  as  part  of  a great  brother- 
hood, and  to  rejoice  in  another  man  hitting  the  point  which 
he  missed,  just  as  he  would  rejoice  in  himself  succeeding  in 
something  to-day  which  he  failed  in  yesterday.  It  is  this 
nobleness  of  character  which  makes  me  reverence  him  more 
than  any  mere  successes  could.  It  is  because  I fear,  that 
in  a life  of  such  disappointment  my  character  would  not 
prove  so  generous,  hut  that  failure  would  sour  my  temper 
and  penury  degrade  my  spirit  as  they  never  have  his,  that 
I have  ventured  to  search  for  the  rocks  on  which  he  made 
shipwreck,  in  order  to  avoid  them.  All  men  cannot  return 
wrecked,  and  tattered,  and  destitute  from  an  unsuccessful 
voyage,  with  a heart  as  hopeful,  a temper  as  generous,  a 
spirit  as  free  from  envy  and  detraction,  as  if  they  brought 
ihe  golden  fleece  with  them.  Our  father  does  this  again 
and  again;  and  therefore  I trust  his  argosies  are  laid  up  for 
him  as  for  those  who  follow  the  rules  of  evangelical  perfec- 
tion, where  neither  moth  nor  rust  can  corrupt.  I could 


THE  SGHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


29 


not.  I would  never  return  until  I could  bring  what  I had 
sought,  or  I should  return  a miserable  man,  shipwrecked  in 
heart  as  well  as  in  fortune.  And  therefore  I must  examine 
my  charts,  and  choose  my  port  and  my  vessel  carefully, 
before  I sail. 

All  these  thoughts  came  into  my  mind  as  I stood  on  the 
last  height  of  the  forest,  from  which  I could  look  back  on 
Eisenach,  nestling  in  the  valley  under  the  shadow  of  the 
Wartburg.  May  the  dear  mother  of  God,  St.  Elizabeth, 
and  all  the  saints,  defend  it  evermore! 

But  there  was  not  much  time  to  linger  for  a last  view  of 
Eisenach.  The  winter  days  were  short;  some  snow  had 
fallen  in  the  previous  night.  The  roofs  of  the  houses  in 
Eisenach  wore  white  with  it,  and  the  carving  of  spire  and 
tower  seemed  inlaid  with  alabaster.  A thin  covering  lay  on 
the  meadows  ^nd  hillsides,  and  light  feather-work  frosted 
the  pines.  I had  nearly  thirty  miles  to  walk  through  for- 
est and  plain  before  I reached  Erfurt.  The  day  was  as 
bright  and  the  air  as  light  as  my  heart.  The  shadows  of 
the  pines  lay  across  the  frozen  snow,  over  which  my  feet 
crunched  cheerily.  In  the  clearings,  the  outlines  of  the 
black  twigs  were  penciled  dark  and  clear  against  the  light 
blue  of  the  winter  sky.  Every  outline  was  clear,  and  crisp, 
and  definite,  as  I resolved  my  own  aims  in  life  should  be. 
I knew  my  purposes  were  pure  and  high,  and  I felt  as  if 
Heaven  must  prosper  me. 

But  as  the  day  wore  on,  I began  to  wonder  when  the 
forest  would  end,  until,  as  the  sun  sank  lower  and  lower,  I 
feared  I must  have  missed  my  way;  and  at  last,  as  I 
climbed  a height  to  make  a survey,  to  my  dismay  it  was  too 
evident  I had  taken  the  wrong  turning  in  the  snow.  Wide 
reaches  of  the  forest  lay  all  around  me,  one  pine-covered 
hill  folding  over  another;  and  only  in  one  distant  opening 
could  I get  a glimpse  of  the  level  land  beyond,  where  I 
knew  Erfurt  must  lie.  The  daylight  was  fast  departing;, 
my  wallet  was  empty.  I knew  there  were  villages  hidden 
in  the  valleys  here  and  there;  but  not  a wreath  of  smoke 
could  I see,  nor  any  sign  of  man,  except  here  and  there 
faggots  piled  in  some  recent  clearing.  Toward  one  of  these 
clearings  I directed  my  steps,  intending  to  follow  the  wood- 
cutter’s track,  which  I thought  would  probably  lead  me  to 
the  hut  of  some  charcoal  burner,  where  I might  find  fire 
and  shelter.  Before  I reached  this.,  spot,  however,  night 


30 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


had  set  in.  The  snow  began  to  fall  again,  and  it  seemed 
too  great  a risk  to  leave  the  broader  path  to  follow  any  un- 
known track.  I resolved,  therefore,  to  make  the  best  of 
my  circumstances.  They  were  not  unendurable.  I had 
a flint  and  tinder,  and  gathering  some  dry  wood  and  twigs, 
I contrived  with  some  difficulty  to  light  a fire.  Cold  and 
hungry  I certainly  was,  but  for  this  I cared  little.  It  was 
only  an  extra  fast,  and  it  seemed  to  me  quite  natural  that 
my  journey  of  life  should  commence  with  difficulty  and 
danger.  It  was  always  so  in  legends  of  the  saints,  romance, 
or  elfin  tale,  or  when  anything  great  was  to  be  done. 

But  in  the  night,  as  the  wind  howled  through  the  count- 
less stems  of  the  pines,  not  with  the  soft  varieties  of  sound 
it  makes  amid  the  summer  oak  woods,  but  with  a long, 
monotonous  wail  like  a dirge,  a tumult  awoke  in  my  heart 
such  as  I had  never  known  before.  I knew  these  forests 
were  infested  by  robber-bands,  and  I could  hear  in  the  dis- 
tance the  baying  and  howling  of  the  wolves;  but  it  was  not 
fear  which  tossed  my  thoughts  so  wildly  to  and  fro,  at  least 
not  fear  of  bodily  harm.  I thought  of  all  the  stories  of 
wild  huntsmen,  of  wretched,  guilty  men,  hunted  by  packs 
of  fiends;  and  the  stories  which  had  excited  a wild  delight 
in  Else  and  me,  as  our  grandmother  told  them  by  the  fire 
at  home,  now  seemed  to  freeze  my  soul  with  horror.  For 
was  not  I a guilty  creature,  and  were  not  the  devils  indeed 
too  really  around  me?  and  what  was  to  prevent  their 
possessing  me?  Who  in  all  the  universe  was  on  my  side? 
Could  I look  up  with  confidence  to  God?  He  loves  only 
the  holy.  Or  to  Christ?  He  is  the  Judge;  and  more  terri- 
ble than  any  cries  of  legions  of  devils  will  it  be  to  the  sinner 
to  hear  his  voice  from  the  awful  snow-white  throne  of  judg- 
ment. Then  my  sins  rose  before  me — my  neglected 
prayers,  penances  imperfectly  performed,  incomplete  con- 
fessions. Even  that  morning,  had  I not  been  full  of  proud 
and  ambitious  thoughts — even,  perhaps,  vainly  comparing 
myself  with  my  good  father,  and  picturing  myself  as  con- 
quering and  enjoying  all  kinds  of  worldly  delights?  It 
was  true,  it  could  hardly  be  a sin  to  wish  to  save  my  family 
from  penury  and  care;  but  it  was  certainly  a sin  to  be  am- 
bitious of  worldly  distinction,  as  Father  Christopher  had 
so  often  told  me.  Then,  how  difficult  to  separate  the  two! 
Where  did  duty  end,  and  ambition  and  pride  begin?  I 
determined  to  find  a confessor  as  soon  as  I reached  Erfurt, 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


31 


if  ever  I reached  it.  And  yet,  what  could  even  the  wisest 
confessor  do  for  me  in  such  difficulties?  How  could  I ever 
be  sure  that  I had  not  deceived  myself  in  examining  my 
motives,  and  then  deceived  him,  and  thus  obtained  an 
absolution  on  false  pretenses,  which  could  avail  me  nothing? 
And  if  this  might  be  so  with  future  confessions,  why  not 
with  all  past  ones? 

The  thought  was  horror  to  me,  and  seemed  to  open  a 
fathomless  abyss  of  misery  yawning  under  my  feet.  I 
could  no  more  discover  a track  out  of  my  miserable  per- 
plexities than  out  of  the  forest. 

For  if  these  apprehensions  had  any  ground,  not  only  the 
sins  I had  failed  to  confess  were  unpardoned,  but  the  sins 
I had  confessed  and  obtained  absolution  for  on  false  grounds. 
Thus  it  might  be  at  that  moment  my  soul  stood  utterly 
unsheltered,  as  my  body  from  the  snows,  exposed  to  the 
wrath  of  God,  the  judgment  of  Christ,  and  the  exulting 
cruelty  of  devils. 

It  seemed  as  if  only  one  thing  could  save  me,  and  that 
could  never  be  had.  If  I could  find  an  infallible  confessor 
who  could  see  down  into  the  depths  of  my  heart,  and  back 
into  every  recess  of  my  life,  who  could  unveil  me  to  myself, 
penetrate  all  my  motives,  and  assign  me  the  penances  I 
really  deserved,  I would  travel  to  the  end  of  the  world  to 
find  him. 

The  severest  penances  he  could  assign,  after  searching 
the  lives  of  all  the  holy  eremites  and  martyrs,  for  examples 
of  mortification,  it  seemed  to  me  would  be  light  indeed,  if 
I could  only  be  sure  they  were  the  right  penances,  and 
Would  be  followed  by  a true  absolution. 

But  this  it  was,  indeed,  impossible  I could  ever  find. 

What  sure  hope  then  could  I ever  have  of  pardon  or  re- 
mission of  sins?  What  voice  of  priest  or  monk,  the  holiest 
on  earth,  could  ever  assure  me  I had  been  honest  with  my- 
self? What  absolution  could  ever  give  me  a right  to  believe 
that  the  baptismal  robes,  soiled,  as  they  told  me,  “before  I 
had  left  off  my  infant  socks,”  could  once  more  be  made 
white  and  clean? 

Then  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  the  thought  flashed  on 
me,  of  the  monastic  vows,  the  cloister  and  the  cowl.  I 
knew  there  was  a virtue  in  the  monastic  profession  which 
many  said  was  equal  to  a second  baptism.  Could  it  be  pos- 
sible that  the  end  of  all  my  aspirations  might  after  all  be 


32 


THE  SGHONBEm-GOTTA  FAMILY . 


the  monk’s  frock?  What  then  would  become  of  father 
and  mother,  dear  Else,  and  the  little  ones?  The  thought 
of  their  dear  faces  seemed  for  an  instant  to  drive  away  these 
gloomy  fears,  as  they  say  a hearth-fire  keeps  off  the  wolves. 
But  then  a hollow  voice  seemed  to  whisper,  “If  God  is 
against  you,  and  the  saints,  and  your  conscience,  what  help 
can  you  render  your  family  or  any  one  else?”  The  conflict 
seemed  more  than  I could  bear.  It  was  so  impossible  to  me 
to  make  out  which  suggestions  were  from  the  devil  and 
which  from  God,  and  which  from  my  own  sinful  heart; 
and  yet  it  might  be  the  unpardonable  sin  to  confound 
them.  Wherefore  for  the  rest  of  the  night  I tried  not  to 
think  at  all,  but  paced  up  and  down  reciting  the  ten  com- 
mandments, the  creed,  the  paternoster,  the  ave  Maria,  the 
litanies  of  the  saints,  and  all  the  collects  and  holy  ejacula- 
tions I could  think  of.  By  degrees  this  seemed  to  calm  me, 
especially  the  creed  and  the  paternoster,  whether  because 
these  are  spells  the  fiends  especially  dread,  or  because  there 
is  something  so  comforting  in  the  mere  words,  “Our 
father,”  and  “the  remissions  of  sins,”  I do  not  know. 
Probably  for  both  reasons. 

And  so  the  morning  dawned,  and  the  low  sunbeams 
slanted  up  through  the  red  stems  of  the  pines;  and  I said 
the  ave  Maria,  and  thought  of  the  sweet  mother  of  God, 
and  was  a little  cheered. 

But  all  the  next  day  I could  not  recover  from  the  terrors 
of  that  solitary  night.  A shadow  seemed  to  have  fallen  on 
my  hopes  and  projects.  How  could  I tell  that  all  which 
had  seemed  most  holy  to  me  as  an  object  in  life  might  not 
be  temptations  of  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil;  and 
that  with  all  my  laboring  for  my  dear  ones  at  home,  my 
sins  might  not  bring  on  them  more  troubles  than  all  my 
successes  could  avert? 

• As  I left  the  shadow  of  the  forest,  however,  my  heart 
seemed  to  grow  lighter.  I shall  always  henceforth  feel 
sure  that  the  wildest  legends  of  the  forest  may  be  true,  and 
that  the  fiends  have  especial  haunts  among  the  solitary 
woods  at  night. 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  the  towers  of  Erfurt  rising  before 
me  on  the  plain. 

I had  only  one  friend  at  the  university;  but  that  is 
Martin  Luther,  and  he  is  a host  in  himself  to  me.  He  is 
already  distinguished  among  the  students  here;  and  the 
professors  expect  great  things  of  him. 


THE  SCI10NB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY \ 


33 


He  is  especially  studying  jurisprudence,  because  his 
father  wishes  him  to  be  a great  lawyer.  This  also  is  to  be 
my  profession,  and  his  counsel,  always  so  heartily  given,  is 
of  the  greatest  use  to  me. 

His  life  is,  indeed,  changed  since  we  first  knew  him  at 
Eisenach,  when  Aunt  Ursula  took  compassion  on  him,  a 
destitute  scholar,  singing  at  the  doors  of  the  houses  in  St. 
George  street  for  a piece  of  bread.  His  father’s  hard 
struggles  to  maintain  and  raise  his  family  have  succeeded 
at  last;  he  is  now  the  owner  of  a foundry  and  some  smelt- 
ing furnaces,  and  supports  Martin  liberally  at  the  univer- 
sity. The  icy  morning  of  Martin’s  struggles  seems  over, 
and  all  is  bright  before  him. 

Erfurt  is  the  first  university  in  Germany.  Compared 
with  it,  as  Martin  Luther  says,  the  other  universities  are 
mere  private  academies.  At  present  we  have  from  a thou- 
sand to  thirteen  hundred  students.  Some  of  our  professors 
have  studied  the  classics  in  Italy,  under  the  descendants  of 
the  ancient  Greeks  and  Eomans.  The  Elector  Frederic 
has,  indeed,  lately  founded  a new  university  at  Witten- 
berg, but  we  at  Erfurt  have  little  fear  of  Wittenberg  out- 
stripping our  ancient  institution. 

The  humanists,  or  disciples  of  the  ancient  heathen 
learning,  are  in  great  force  here,  with  Mutianus  Rufus  at 
their  head.  They  meet  often,  especially  at  his  house,  and 
he  gives  them  subjects  for  Latin  versification,  such  as  the 
praises  of  poverty.  Martin  Luther’s  friend  Spalatin  joined 
these  assemblies;  but  he  himself  does  not,  at  least  not  as  a 
member.  Indeed,  strange  things  are  reported  of  their 
converse,  which  make  the  names  of  poet  and  philosopher 
in  which  they  delight  very  much  suspected  in  orthodox 
circles.  These  ideas  Mutianus  and  his  friends  are  said  to 
have  imported  with  the  classical  literature  from  Italy.  He 
has  even  declared  and  written  in  a letter  to  a friend,  that 
“there  is  but  one  God,  and  one  goddess,  although  under 
various  forms  and  various  names,  as  Jupiter,  Sol,  Apollo, 
Moses,  Christ;  Luna,  Ceres,  Proserpine,  Tellus,  Mary.” 
But  these  things  he  warns  his  disciples  not  to  speak  of  in 
public.  “They  must  be  veiled  in  silence,”  he  says,  “like 
the  Eleusinian  mysteries.  In  the  affairs  of  religion  we 
must  make  use  of  the  mask  of  fables  and  engimas.  Let  us 
by  the  grace  of  Jupiter,  that  is,  of  the  best  and  highest 
God,  despise  the  lesser  gods.  When  I say  Jupiter,  I mean 
Christ  and  the  true  God.” 


34  THE  SOHO NB EitG-CO TTA  FAMILY. 

Mutianus  and  his  friends  also  in  their  intimate  circles 
speak  most  slightingly  of  the  church  ceremonies,  calling 
the  mass  a comedy,  and  the  holy  relics  ravens’  bones;* 
speaking  of  the  service  of  the  altar  as  so  much  lost  time; 
and  stigmatizing  the  prayers  at  the  canonical  hours  as  a 
mere  baying  of  hounds,  or  the  humming,  not  of  busy  bees, 
but  of  lazy  drones. 

If  you  reproached  them  with  such  irreverent  sayings, 
they  would  probably  reply  that  they  had  only  uttered  them 
in  an  esoteric  sense,  and  meant  nothing  by  them.  But 
when  people  deem' it  right  thus  to  mask  their  truths,  and 
explain  away  their  errors,  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  which 
is  the  mask  and  which  the  reality  in  their  estimation.  It 
seems  to  me  also  that  they  make  mere  intellectual  games  or 
exercises  out  of  the  most  profound  and  awful  questions. 

This,  probably,  more  than  the  daring  character  of  their 
speculations,  deters  Martin  Luther  from  numbering  him- 
self among  them.  His  nature  is  so  reverent  in  spite  of  all 
the  courage  of  his  character.  I think  he  would  dare  or 
suffer  anything  for  what  he  believed  true;  but  he  cannot 
bear  to  have  the  poorest  fragment  of  what  he  holds  sacred 
trifled  with  or  played  with  as  a mere  feat  of  intellectual 
gymnastics. 

His  chief  attention  is  at  present  directed,  by  his  father’s 
especial  desire,  to  Roman  literature  and  law,, and  to  the 
study  of  the  allegories  and  philosophy  of  Aristotle.  He 
likes  to  have  to  do  with  what  is  true  and  solid : poetry  and 
music  are  his  delight  and  recreation.  But  it  is  in  debate  he 
most  excels.  A few  evenings  since,  he  introduced  me  to  a 
society  of  students,  where  questions  new  and  old  are  de- 
bated; and  it  was  glorious  to  see  how  our  Martin  carried 
off  the  palm;  sometimes  swooping  down  on  his  opponents 
like  an  eagle  among  a flock  of  small  birds,  or  setting  down  his 
great  lion’s  paw  and  quietly  crushing  a host  of  objections, 
apparently  unaware  of  the  mischief  he  had  done,  until  some 
feeble  wail  of  the  prostrate  foe  made  him  sensible  of  it,  and 
he  withdrew  with  a good-humored  apology  for  having  hurt 
any  one’s  feelings.  At  other  times  he  withers  an  unfair 
argument  or  a confused  statement  to  a cinder  by  some 
lightning-flash  of  humor  or  satire.  I do  not  think  he  is 
often  perplexed  by  seeing  too  much  of  the  other  side  of  a 


* That  is,  skeletons  left  on  the  gallows  for  the  ravens  to  peck  at. 


TEE  SCIIO N BERG-COTTA  FAMILY, . 


35 


disputed  question.  He  holds  the  one  truth  he  is  contend- 
ing for,  and  he  sees  the  one  point  he  is  aiming  at,  and  at 
that  he  charges  with  a force  compounded  of  the  ponderous 
weight  of  his  will,  and  the  electric  velocity  of  his  thoughts, 
crushing  whatever  comes  in  his  way,  scattering  whatever 
escapes  right  and  left,  and  never  heeding  how  the  scattered 
forces  may  reunite  and  form  in  his  rear.  He  knows  that 
if  he  only  turns  on  them,  in  a moment  they  will  disperse 
again. 

I cannot  quite  tell  how  this  style  of  warfare  would  an- 
swer for  an  advocate,  who  had  to  make  the  best  of  any 
cause  he  is  engaged  to  plead.  I cannot  fancy  Martin 
Luther  quietly  collecting  the  arguments  from  the  worst 
side,  to  the  end  that  even  the  worst  side  may  have  fair  play; 
which  is,  I suppose,  often  the  office  of  an  advocate. 

No  doubt,  however,  he  will  find  or  make  his  calling  in 
the  world.  The  professors  and  learned  men  have  the 
most  brilliant  expectations  as  to  his  career.  And  what  is 
rare  (they  say),  he  seems  as  much  the  favorite  of  the 
students  as  of  the  professors.  His  nature  is  so  social;  his 
musical  abilities  and  his  wonderful  powers  of  conversation 
make  him  popular  with  all. 

And  yet,  underneath  it  all,  we  who  know  him  well  can 
detect  at  times  that  tide  of  thoughtful  melancholy  which 
seems  to  lie  at  the  bottom  of  all  hearts  which  have  looked 
deeply  into  themselves  or  into  life. 

He  is  as  attentive  as  ever  to  religion,  never  missing  the 
daily  mass.  But  in  our  private  conversations,  I see  that 
his  conscience  is  anything  but  at  ease.  Has  he  passed 
through  conflicts  such  as  mine  in  the  forest  on  that  terrible 
night?  Perhaps  through  conflicts  as  much  fiercer  and 
more  terrible,  as  his  character  is  stronger  and  his  mind 
deeper  than  mine.  But  who  can  tell?  What  is  the  use  of 
unfolding  perplexities  to  each  other,  which  it  seems  no  in- 
tellect on  earth  can  solve?  The  inmost  recesses  of  the 
heart  must  always,  I suppose,  be  a solitude,  like  that  dark 
and  awful  sanctuary  within  the  veil  of  the  old  Jewish 
temple,  entered  only  once  a year,  and  faintly  illumined  by 
the  light  without,  through  the  thick  folds  of  the  sacred 
veil. 

If  only  that  solitude  were  indeed  a holy  of  holies — or, 
being  what  it  is,  if  we  only  need  enter  it  once  a year,  and 
not  carry  about  the  consciousness  of  this  dark  secret  with 


36 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


us  everywhere.  But,  alas!  once  entered  we  can  never  for- 
get it.  It  is  like  the  chill,  dark  crypts  underneath  our 
churches,  where  the  masses  for  the  dead  are  celebrated, 
and  where  in  some  monastic  churches  the  embalmed  corpses 
lie  shriveled  to  mummies,  and  visible  through  gratings. 
Through  all  the  joyous  festivals  of  the  holidays  above,  the 
consciousness  of  those  dark  chambers  of  death  below  seems 
to  creep  up;  like  the  damps  of  the  vaults  through  the 
incense,  like  the  muffled  wail  of  the  dirges  through  the 
songs  of  praise. 

Erfurt,  April,  1503. 

We  are  just  returned  from  an  expedition  which  might 
have  proved  fatal  to  Martin  Luther.  Early  in  the  morn- 
ing, three  days  since,  we  started  to  walk  to  Mansfeld  on  a 
visit  to  his  family,  our  hearts  as  full  of  hope  as  the  woods 
were  full  of  song.  We  were  armed  with  swords;  our  wal- 
lets were  full;  and  spirits  light  as  the  air.  Our  way  was  to 
lie  through  'field  and  forest,  and  then  along  the  banks  of 
the  river  Holme,  through  the  golden  meadow  where  are  so 
many  noble  cloisters  and  imperial  palaces. 

But  we  had  scarcely  been  on  our  way  an  hour  when  Mar- 
tin, by  some  accident,  ran  his  sword  into  his  foot.  To 
my  dismay  the  blood  gushed  out  in  a stream.  He  had  cut 
into  a main  artery.  I left  him  under  the  care  of  some 
peasants,  and  ran  back  to  Erfurt  for  a physician.  When 
he  arrived,  however,  there  was  great  difficulty  in  closing 
the  wound  with  bandages.  I longed  for  Else  or  our 
mother’s  skillful  fingers.  We  contrived  to  carry  him  back 
to  the  city.  I sat  up  to  watch  with  him.  But  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  night  his  wound  burst  out  bleeding  afresh.  The 
danger  was  very  great,  and  Martin  himself  giving  up  hope, 
and  believing  death  was  close  at  hand,  committed  his  soul 
to  the  blessed  mother  of  God.  Merciful  and  pitiful,  know- 
ing sorrow,  yet  raised  glorious  above  all  sorrow,  with  a 
mother’s  heart  for  all,  and  a mother’s  claim  on  Him  who 
is  the  judge  of  all,  where  indeed  can  we  so  safely  flee  for 
refuge  as  to  Mary?  It  was  edifying  to  see  Martin’s  devo- 
tion to  her,  and  no  doubt  it  was  greatly  owing  to  this  that 
at  length  the  remedies  succeeded,  the  "bandages  closed  the 
wound  again,  and  the  blood  was  stanched. 

Many  an  ave  will  I say  for  this  to  the  sweet  mother  of 
mercy.  Perchance  she  may  also  have  pity  on  me.  Oh, 
sweetest  lady,  “ eternal  daughter  of  the  eternal  father,  heart 


THE  SCEOJYB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


3 7 


of  the  indivisible  trinity,”  thou  seest  my  desire  to  help  my 
own  care-worn  mother;  aid  me,  and  have  mercy  on  me, 
thy  sinful  child. 

Erfurt,  June,  1503. 

Martin  Luther  has  taken  his  first  degree.  He  is  a 
fervent  student,  earnest  in  this  as  in  everything.  Cicero 
and  Virgil  are  his  great  companions  among  the  Latins.  He 
is  no  raised  quite  above  the  pressing  cares  of  penury,  and 
will  probably  never  taste  them  more.  His  father  is  now  a 
prosperous  burgher  of  Mansfeld,  and  on  the  way  to  become 
burgomaster.  I wish  the  prospects  at  my  home  were  as 
cheering.  A few  years  less  of  pinching  poverty  for  myself 
seems  to  matter  little,  but  the  cares  of  our  mother  and 
Else  weigh  on  me  often  heavily,  h must  be  long  yet  be- 
fore I can  help  them  effectually,  and  meantime  the  bright 
youth  of  my  little  Else,  and  the  very  life  of  our  toil-worn 
patient  mother  will  be  wearing  away. 

For  myself  I can  fully  enter  into  what  Martin  says,  “ The 
young  should  learn  especially  to  endure  suffering  and 
want;  for  such  suffering  doth  them  no  harm.  It  doth  more 
harm  for  one  to  prosper  without  toil  than  it  doth  to  endure 
suffering.”  He  says  also,  “It  is  God’s  way,  of  beggars  to 
make  men  of  power,  just  as  he  made  the  world  out  of 
nothing.  Loo*k  upon  the  courts  of  kings  and  princes,  upon 
cities  and  parishes.  You  will  there  find  jurists,  doctors, 
councillors,  secretaries,  and  preachers  who  were  commonly 
poor,  and  always  such  as  have  been  students,  and  have 
risen  and  flown  so  high  through  the  quill  that  they  are 
become  lords.” 

But  the  way  to  wealth  through  the  quill  seems  long;  and 
lives  so  precious  to  me  are  being  worn  out  meantime,  while 
I climb  to  the  point  where  I could  help  them ! Some- 
times I wish  I had  chosen  the  calling  of  a merchant,  men 
seem  to  prosper  so  much  more  rapidly  through  trade  than 
through  study;  and  nothing  on  earth  seems  to  me  so  well 
worth  working  for  as  to  lift  the  load  from  their  hearts  at 
home.  But  it  is  too  late.  Rolling  stones  gather  no  moss. 
I must  go  on  now  in  the  track  I have  chosen.  Only  some- 
times again  the  fear  which  came  over  me  on  that  night  in 
the  forest.  It 'seems  as  if  heaven  were  against  me,  and  that 
it  is  vain  presumption  for  such  as  I even  to  hope  to  benefit 
any  one. 

Partly,  no  doubt,  it  is  to  the  depression  caused  by  poor 


38 


THE  SCHONBERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


living,  which  brings  these  thoughts.  Martin  Luther  said 
so  to  me  one  clay  when  he  found  me  desponding.  He  said 
he  knew  so  well  what  it  was.  He  had  suffered  so  much 
from  penury  at  Magdeburg,  and  at  Eisenach  had  even  seri- 
ously thought  of  giving  up  study  altogether  and  returning 
to  his  father’s  calling.  He  is  kind  to  me  and  to  all  who 
need,  but  his  means  do  not  yet  allow  him  to  do  more  than 
maintain  himself.  Or  rather,  they  are  not  his  but  his 
father’s,  and  he  feels  he  has  no  right  to  be  generous  at  the 
expense  of  his  father’s  self-denial  and  toil. 

I find  life  look  different,  I must  say,  after  a good  meal. 
But  then  I cannot  get  rid  of  the  thought  of  the  few  such 
meals  they  have  at  home.  Not  that  Else  writes  gloomily. 
She  never  mentions  a thing  to  sadden  me.  And  this  week 
she  sent  me  a gulden,  which  she  said  belonged  to  her  alone, 
and  she  had  vowed  never  to  use  unless  I would  take  it. 
But  a student  who  saw  them  lately  said  our  mother  looked 
wan  and  ill.  And  to  increase  their  difficulties,  a month 
since  the  father  received  into  the  house  a little  orphan  girl, 
a cousin  of  our  mother’s,  called  Eva  von  Schonberg. 
Heaven  forbid  that  I. should  grudge  the  orphan  her  crust, 
but  when  it  makes  a crust  less  for  the  mother  and  the  little 
ones,  it  is  difficult  to  rejoice  in  such  an  act  of  charity. 

Erfurt,  July,  1503. 

I have  just  obtained  a nomination  on  a foundation, 
which  will,  I hope,  for  the  present  at  least,  prevent  my 
being  any  burden  on  my  family  for  my  own  maintenance. 
The  rules  are  very  strict,  and  they  are  enforced  with  many 
awful  vows  and  oaths  which  trouble  my  conscience  not  a 
little,  because,  if  the  least  detail  of  these  rules  to  which  I 
have  sworn  is  even  inadvertently  omitted,  I involve  myself 
in  the  guilt  of  perjury.  However,  it  is  a step  onward  in 
the  way  to  independence;  and  a far  heavier  yoke  might 
well  be  borne  with  such  an  object. 

We  (the  beneficiaries  on  this  foundation)  have  solemnly 
vowed  to  observe  the  seven  canonical  hours,  never  omitting 
the  prayers  belonging  to  each.  This  ensures  early  rising, 
which  is  a good  thing  for  a student.  The  most  difficult  to 
keep  is  the  midnight  hour,  after  a day  of  hard  study;  but 
it  is  no  more  than  soldiers  on  duty  have  continually  to  go 
through.  We  have  also  to  chant  the  Miserere  at  funerals, 
and  frequently  to  hear  the  eulogy  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 


THE  SCHONBElM-COTTA  FAMILY. 


39 


Mary.  This  last  can  certainly  not  be  called  a hardship, 
least  of  all  to  me  who  desire  ever  henceforth  to  have  an 
especial  devotion  to  Our  Lady,  to  recite  daily  the  rosary, 
commemorating  the  joys  of  Mary,  the  salutation,  the  jour- 
ney across  the  mountains,  the  birth  without  pain,  the  find- 
ing  of  Jesus  in  the  temple,  and  the  ascension.  It  is  only 
the  vows  which  make  it  rather  a bondage.  But,  indeed, 
in  spite  of  all,  it  is  a great  boon,  I can  conscientiously 
write  to  Else  now  that  I shall  not  need  another  penny  of 
their  scanty  store,  and  can  even  by  the  next  opportunity 
return  what  she  sent,  which,  happily,  I have  not  yet 
touched. 

August,  1503. 

Martin  Luther  is  very  dangerously  ill ; many  of  the  pro- 
fessors and  students  are  in  great  anxiety  about  him.  He 
has  so  many  friends;  and  no  wonder!  He  is  no  cold  friend 
himself,  and  all  expect  great  honor  to  the  University  from 
his  abilities.  I scarcely  dare  to  think  what  his  loss  would 
be  to  me.  But  this  morning  an  aged  priest  who  visited 
him  inspired  us  with  some  hope.  As  Martin  lay,  appar- 
ently in  the  last  extremity,  and  himself  expecting*  death, 
this  old  priest  came  to  his  bedside,  and  said  gently  but  in  a 
firm  tone  of  conviction : 

“Be  of  good  comfort,  my  brother,  you  will  not  die  at 
this  time;  God  will  yet  make  a great  man  of  you,  who 
shall  comfort  many  others.  Whom  God  loveth  and  pro- 
poseth  to  make  a blessing,  upon  him  he  early  layetli  the 
cross,  and  in  that  school,  who  patiently  endure  learn  much.” 

The  words  came  with  a strange  kind  of  power,  and  I 
cannot  help  thinking  that  there  is  a little  improvement  in 
the  patient  since  they  were  uttered.  Truly,  good  words 
are  like  food  and  medicine  to  body  and  soul. 

Erfurt,  August,  1503. 

Martin  Luther  is  recovered ! The  Almighty,  the  blessed 
mother,  and  all  the  saints  be  praised. 

The  good  old  priest’s  words  have  also  brought  some 
especial  comfort  to  me.  If  it  could  only  be  possible  that 
those  troubles  and  cares  which  have  weighed  so  heavily  on 
Else’s  early  life  and  mine,  are  not  the  rod  of  anger,  but  the 
cross  laid  on  those  God  loveth!  But  who  can  tell?  For 
Else,  at  least,  I will  try  to  believe  this. 


40 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


The  world  is  wide  in  those  days,  with  the  great  New 
World  opened  by  the  Spanish  mariners  beyond  the  Atlantic, 
and  the  noble  Old  World  opened  to  students  through  the 
sacred  fountains  of  the  ancient  classics,  once  more  unsealed 
by  the  revived  study  of  the  ancient  languages;  and  this 
new  discovery  of  printing,  which  will,  my  father  thinks, 
diffuse  the  newly  unsealed  fountains  of  ancient  wisdom  in 
countless  channels  among  high  and  low. 

These  are  glorious  times  to  live  in.  So  much  already 
unfolded  to  us!  And  who  knows  what  beyond?  For  it 
seems  as  if  the  hearts  of  men  everywhere  were  beating  high 
with  expectation;  as  if,  in  these  days,  nothing  were  too 
great  to  anticipate,  or  too  good  to  believe. 

It  is  well  to  encounter  our  dragons  at  the  threshold  of 
life,  instead  of  at  the  end  of  the  race — at  the  threshold  of 
death;  therefore,  I may  well  be  content.  In  this  wide  and 
ever  widening  world,  there  must  be  some  career  for  me  and 
mine.  What  will  it  be? 

And  what  will  Martin  Luther’s  be?  Much  is  expected 
from  him.  Famous  every  one  at  the  university  says  he 
must  be.  On  what  field  will  he  win  his  laurels?  Will  they 
be  laurels  or  palms? 

When  I hear  him  in  the  debates  of  the  students,  all  wait- 
ing for  his  opinions,  and  applauding  his  eloquent  words,  I 
see  the  laurel  already  among  his  black  hair,  wreathing  his 
massive,  homely  forehead.  But  when  I remember  the  de- 
bate which  I know  there  is  within  him,  the  anxious  fer- 
vency of  his  devotions,  his  struggle  of  conscience,  his 
distress  at  any  omission  of  duty,  and  watch  the  deep,  melan- 
choly look  which  there  is  sometimes  in  his  dark  eyes,  I 
think  not  of  the  tales  of  the  heroes,  but  of  the  legends  of 
the  saints,  and  wonder  in  what  victory  over  the  old  dragon 
he  will  win  his  palm. 

But  the  bells  are  sounding  for  compline,  and  I must  not 
miss  the  sacred  hour. 


THE  SCHONBEEG-COTT A FAMILY . 


41 


PAET  III. 

else’s  chronicle. 

Eisenach,  1504. 

I cannot  say  that  things  have  prospered  much  with  us 
since  Fritz  left.  The  lumber-room  itself  is  changed.  The 
piles  of  old  books  are  much  reduced,  because  we  have  been 
obliged  to  pawn  many  of  them  for  food.  Some  even  of  the 
father’s  beautiful  models  have  had  to  be  sold.  It  went  ter- 
ribly to  his  heart.  But  it  paid  our  debts. 

Our  grandmother  has  grown  a little  querulous  at  times 
lately.  And  I am  so  tempted  to  be  cross  sometimes.  The 
boys  eat  so  much,  and  wear  out  their  clothes  so  fast.  In- 
deed, I cannot  see  that  poverty  makes  any  of  us  any 
better,  except  it  be  my  mother,  who  needed  improvement 
least  of  all. 

September,  1504. 

The  father  has  actually  brought  a new  inmate  into  the 
house,  a little  girl,  called  Eva  von  Schonberg,  a distant 
cousin  of  our  mother. 

Last  week  he  told  us  she  was  coming,  very  abruptly.  I 
think  he  was  rather  afraid  of  what  our  grandmother  would 
say,  for  we  all  know  it  is  not  of  the  least  use  to  come 
round  her  with  soft  speeches.  She  always  sees  what  you 
are  aiming  at,  and  with  her  keen  eyes  cuts  straight  through 
all  your  circumlocutions,  and  obliges  you  to  descend 
direct  on  your  point,  with  more  rapidity  than  grace. 

Accordingly,  he  said,  quite  suddenly,  one  day  at  dinner: 

“I  forgot  to  tell  you,  little  mother,  I have  just  had  a 
letter  from  your  relations  in  Bohemia.  Your  great-uncle 
is  dead.  His  son,  you  know,  died  before  him.  A little 
orphan  girl  is  left  with  no  one  to  take  care  of  her.  I have 
desired  them  to  send  her  to  us.  I could  do  no  less.  It 
was  an  act,  not  of  charity,  but  of  the  plainest  duty.  And 
besides,”  he  added,  apologetically,  “in  the  end  it  may  make 
our  fortunes.  There  is  property  somewhere  in  the  family, 
if  we  could  get  it;  and  this  little  Eva  is  the  descendant  of 
the  eldest  branch.  Indeed,  I do  not  know  but  that  she 
may  bring  many  valuable  family  heirlooms  with  her.” 

These  last  observations  he  addressed  especially  to  my 
grandmother,  hoping  thereby  to  make  it  clear  to  her  that 


42 


THE  SCHONJB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


the  act  was  one  of  the  deepest  worldly  wisdom.  Then 
turning  to  the  mother,  he  concluded: 

“ Little  mother,  thou  wilt  find  a place  for  the  orphan  in 
thy  heart,  and  Heaven  will  no  doubt  bless  us  for  it.” 

“No  doubt  about  the  room  in  my  daughter’s  heart!” 
murmured  our  grandmother;  “the  question,  as  I read  it, 
is  not  about  hearts,  but  about  larders  and  wardrobes.  And, 
certainly,”  she  added,  not  very  pleasantly,  “there  is  room 
enough  there  for  any  family  jewels  the  young  heiress  may 
bring.” 

As  usual,  the  mother  came  to  the  rescue. 

“Dear  grandmother,”  she  said,  “heaven,  no  doubt,  will 
repay  us;  and  besides,  you  know,  we  may  now  venture  on 
a little  more  expense,  since  we  are  out  of  debt.” 

“There  is  no  doubt,  I suppose,”  retorted  our  grand- 
mother, “about  heaven  repaying  you;  but  there  seems  to 
me  a good  deal  of  doubt  whether  it  will  be  in  current  coin.” 

Then,  I suppose  fearing  the  effect  of  so  doubtful  a senti- 
ment on  the  children,  she  added  rather  querulously,  but  in 
a gentler  tone: 

“ Let  the  little  creature  come.  Eoom  may  be  made  for 
her  soon  in  one  way  or  another.  The  old  creep  out  at  the 
churchyard  gate,  while  the  young  bound  in  at  the  front- 
door.” 

And  in  a few  days  little  Eva  came;  but,  unfortunately, 
without  the  family  jewels.  But  the  saints  forbid  I should 
grow  mercenary  or  miserly,  and  grudge  the  orphan  her 
crust! 

And  who  could  help  welcoming  little  Eva?  As  she  lies 
- on  my  bed  asleep,  with  her  golden  hair  on  the  pillow,  and 
the  long  lashes  shading  her  cheeks,  flushed  with  sleep  and 
resting  on  her  dimpled  white  hands,  who  could  wish  her 
away?  And  when  I put  out  the  lamp  (as  I must  very 
soon)  and  lie  down  beside  her,  she  will  half  awake,  just  to 
nestle  into  my  heart,  and  murmur  in  her  sleep,  “Sweet 
Cousin  Else!”  And  I shall  no  more  be  able  to  wish  her 
gone  than  my  guardian  angel.  Indeed  I think  she  is 
something  like  one. 

She  is  not  quite  ten  years  old;  but  being  an  only  child, 
and  always  brought  up  with  older  people,  she  has  a quiet, 
considerate  way,  and  a quaint,  thoughtful  gravity,  which 
sits  with  a strange  charm  on  her  bright,  innocent,  childlike 
face. 


THE  SGIIONB  ERG-GO  TTA  FAMILY. 


43 


At  first  she  seemed  a little  afraid  of  our  children,  es- 
pecially the  boys,  and  crept  about  everywhere  by  the  side 
of  my  mother,  to  whom  she  gave  her  confidence  from  the 
beginning.  She  did  not  so  immediately  take  to  our  grand- 
mother, who  was  not  very  warm  in  her  reception;  but  the 
second  evening  after  her  arrival,  she  deliberately  took  her 
little  stool  up  to  our  grandmother’s  side,  and  seating  her- 
self at  her  feet,  laid  her  two  little,  soft  hands  on  the  dear, 
thin,  old  hands,  and  said: 

“You  must  love  me,  for  I shall  love  you  very  much. 
You  are  like  my  great-aunt  who  died.” 

And,  strange  to  say,  our  grandmother  seemed  quite  flat- 
tered; and  ever  since  they  have  been  close  friends.  Indeed 
she  commands  us  all,  and  there  is  not  one  in  the  house  who 
does  not  seem  to  think  her  notice  a favor.  I wonder  if 
Fritz  would  feel  the  same! 

Our  father  lets  her  sit  in  his  printing-room  when  he  is 
making  experiments,  which  none  of  us  ever  dared  to  do. 
She  perches  herself  on  the  window-sill,  and  watches  him  as 
if  she  understood  it  all,  and  he  talks  to  her  as  if  he  thought 
she  did. 

Then  she  has  a wonderful  way  of  telling  the  legends  of 
the  saints  to  the  children.  When  our  grandmother  tells 
them,  I think  of  the  saints  as  heroes  and  warriors.  When 
I try  to  relate  the  sacred  stories  to  the  little  ones,  I am 
afraid  I make  them  too  much  like  fairy  tales.  But  when 
little  Eva  is  speaking  about  St.  Agnes  or  St.  Catherine, 
her  voice  becomes  soft  and  deep,  like  church  music;  and 
her  face  grave  and  beautiful,  like  one  of  the  child  angels 
in  the  pictures;  and  her  eyes  as  if  they  saw  into  heaven.  I 
wish  Fritz  could  hear  her.  I think  she  must  be  just  what 
the  saints  were  when  they  were  lj^tle  children,  except  for 
that  strange,  quiet  way  she  has  of  making  every  one  do 
what  she  likes.  If  our  St.  Elizabeth  had  resembled  our 
little  Eva  in  that,  I scarcely  think  the  landgravine- 
mother  would  have  ventured  to  have  been  so  cruel  to  her. 
Perhaps  it  is  little  Eva  who  is  to  be  the  saint  among  us; 
and  by  helping  her  we  may  best  please  God,  and  be  admit- 
ted at  last  to  some  humble  place  in  heaven. 

Eisenach,  December. 

It  is  a great  comfort  that  Fritz  writes  in  such  good 
spirits.  He  seems  full  of  hope  as  to  his  prospects,  and 


44 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


already  he  has  obtained  a,  place  in  some  excellent  institu- 
tion, where,  he  says,  he  lives  like  a cardinal,  and  is  quite 
above  wanting  assistance  from  any  one.  This  is  very  en- 
couraging. Martin  Luther,  also,  is  on  the  way  to  be  quite 
a great  man,  Fritz  says.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  this;  he 
looked  so  much  like  any  one  else,  and  we  are  all  so  com- 
pletely at  home  with  him,  and  he  talks  in  such  a simple, 
familiar  way  to  us  all — not  in  learned  words,  or  about  diffi- 
cult, abstruse  subjects,  like  the  other  wise  men  I know. 
Certainly  it  always  interests  us  all  to  hear  him,  but  one  can 
understand  all  he  says — even  I can;  so  that  it  is  not  easy 
to  think  of  him  as  a philosopher  and  a great  man.  I sup- 
pose wise  men  must  be  like  the  saints:  one  can  only  see 
what  they»are  when  they  are  some  distance  from  us. 

What  kind  of  great  man  will  Martin  Luther  be,  I won- 
der? As  great  as  our  burgomaster,  or  as  Master  Trebo- 
nius?  Perhaps  even  greater  than  these;  as  great,  even,  as 
the  elector’s  secretary,  who  came  to  see  our  father  about 
his  inventions.  But  it  is  a great-  comfort  to  think  of  it, 
especially  on  Fritz’s  account;  for  I am  sure  Martin  will 
never  forget  old  friends. 

I cannot  quite  comprehend  Eva’s  religion.  It  seems  to 
make  her  happy.  I do  not  think  she  is  afraid  of  God,  or 
even  of  confession.  She  seems  to  enjoy  going  to  church  as 
if  it  were  a holiday  in  the  woods;  and  the  name  of  Jesus 
seems  not  terrible,  but  dear,  to  her,  as  the  name  of  the 
sweet  mother  of  God  is  to  me.  This  is  very  difficult  to 
understand.  I think  she  is  not  even  very  much  afraid  of 
the  judgment  day;  and  this  is  the  reason  why  I think  so: 
The  other  night  when  we  were  both  awakened  by  an  awful 
thunder-storm,  I hid  my  face  under  the  clothes,  in  order 
not  to  see  the  flashes,  until  I heard  the  children  crying  in 
the  next  room,  and  rose,  of  course,  to  soothe  them,  because 
our  mother  had  been  very  tired  that  day,  and  was,  I 
trusted,  asleep.  When  I had  sung  and  talked  to  the  little 
ones,  and  sat  by  them  till  they  were  asleep,  I returned  to 
our  room,  trembling  in  every  limb;  but  I found  Eva  kneel- 
ing by  the  bedside,  with  her  crucifix  pressed  to  her  bosom, 
looking  as  calm  and  happy  as  if  the  lightning  flashes  had 
been  morning  sunbeams. 

She  rose  from  her  knees  when  I entered;  and  when  I 
was  once  more  safely  in  bed,  with  my  arm  around  her,  and 
the  storm  had  lulled  a little,  I said : 


1HE  SGHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


45 


/tfEva,  are  you  not  afraid  of  the  lightning?” 

“X  think  it  might  hurt  us,  Cousin  Else,”  she  said,  “and 
that  was  the  reason  I was  praying  to  God.” 

“But,  Eva,”  I said,  “supposing  the  thunder  should  be 
the  archangel’s  voice?  I always  think  every  thunder-storm 
may  be  the  beginning  of  the  day  of  wrath — the  dreadful 
judgment  day.  What  should  you  do  then?” 

She  was  silent  a little,  and  then  she  said : 

“I  think  I should  take  my  crucifix  and  pray,  and  try  to 
ask  the  Lord  Christ  to  remember  that  he  died  on  the  cross 
for  us  once.  I think  he  would  take  pity  on  us  if  we  did. 
Besides,  Cousin  Else,”  she  added,  after  a pause,  I have  a 
sentence  which  always  comforts  me.  My  father  taught  it 
me  when  I was  a very  little  girl,  in  the  prison,  before  he 
died.  I could  not  remember  it  all,  but  this  part  I have 
never  forgotten : 4 God  so  loved  the  world , that  he  gave  his 
only  sonA  There  was  more,  which  I forgot;  but  that  bit 
I always  remembered,  because  I was  my  father’s  only 
child,  and  he  loved  me  so  dearly.  I do  not  quite  know  all 
it  means;  but  I know  they  are  God’s  words,  and  I feel  sure 
it  means  that  God  loves  us  very  much,  and  that  he  is  in 
some  way  like  my  father.” 

“I  know,”  I replied,  “the  creed  says,  ‘God  the  Father 
Almighty;’  but  I never  thought  that  the  Almighty  Father 
meant  anything  like  our  own  father.  I thought  it  meant 
only  that  he  is  very  great,  and  that  we  all  belong  to  him, 
and  that  we  ought  to  love  him.  Are  you  sure,  Eva,  it 
means  he  loves  usV ’ 

“I  believe  so,  Cousin  Else,”  said  Eva. 

“Perhaps  it  does  mean  that  he  loves  you,  Eva,”  I an- 
swered. “But  you  are  a good  child,  and  always  have  been, 
I should  think;  and  we  all  know  that  God  loves  people 
who  are  good.  That  sentence  says  nothing,  you  see,  about 
God  loving  people  who  are  not  good.  It  is  because  I am 
never  sure  that  I am  doing  the  things  that  please  him,  that 
I am  afraid  of  God  and  of  the  judgment  day.” 

'Eva  was  silent  a minute,  and  then  she  said: 

“ I wish  I could  remember  the  rest  of  the  sentence.  Per- 
haps it  might  tell.” 

“Where  does  that  sentence  come  from,  Eva?”  I asked. 
“Perhaps  we  might  find  it.  Do  you  think  God  said  it  to 
your  father  from  heaven,  in  a vision  or  a dream*  as  he 
speaks  to  the  saints?” 


16 


TIIE  SCIIONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


“I  think  not,  Consin  Else,”  she  replied  thoughtfully; 
’‘because  my  father  said  it  was  in  a book,  which  he  told  me 
where  to  find  when  he  was  gone.  But  when  I found  the 
book,  a priest  took  it  from  me,  and  said  it  was  not  a good 
book  for  little  girls;  and  I never  had  it  again.  So  I have 
only  my  sentence,  Cousin  Else.  I wish  it  made  you  happy, 
as  it  does  me.” 

I kissed  the  darling  child  and  wished  her  good-night; 
but  I could  not  sleep.  I wish  I could  see  the  book.  But, 
perhaps,  after  all,  it  is  not  a right  book;  because  (although 
Eva  does  not  know  it)  I heard  my  grandmother  say  her 
father  was  a Hussite,  and  died  on  the  scaffold  for  believing 
something  wrong. 

In  the  morning  Eva  was  awake  before  me.  Her  large 
dark  eyes  were  watching  me,  and  the  moment  I woke  she 
said: 

“ Cousin  Else,  I think  the  end  of  that  sentence  has  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  crucifix;  because  I always  think  of 
them  together.  You  know  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  God’s 
only  Son,  and  he  died  on  the  cross  for  us.” 

And  she  rose  and  dressed,  and  said  she  would  go  to 
matins  and  say  prayers  for  me,  that  I might  not  be  afraid 
in  the  next  thunder-storm. 

It  must  be  true,  I am  sure,  that  the  Cross  and  the  blessed 
Passion  were  meant  to  do  us  some  good;  but  then  they  can 
only  do  good  to  those  who  please  God,  and  that  is  precisely 
what  it  is  so  exceedingly  difficult  to  find  out  how  to  do. 

I cannot  think,  however,  that  Eva  can  in  any  way  be 
believing  wrong,  because  she  is  so  religious  and  so  good. 
She  attends  most  regularly  at  the  confessional,  and  is 
always  at  church  at  the  early*  mass,  and  many  times  besides. 
Often,  also,  I find  her  at  her  devotions  before  the  crucifix 
and  the  picture  of  the  Holy  Virgin  and  Child  in  our  room. 
She  seems  really  to  enjoy  being  religious,  as  they  say  St. 
Elizabeth  did. 

As  for  me,  there  is  so  very  much  to  do  between  the 
printing,  and  the  house,  and  our  dear  mother’s  ill  health, 
and  the  baby,  and  the  boys,  who  tear  their  clothes  in  such 
incomprehensible  ways,  that  I feel  more  and  more  how 
utterly  hopeless  it  is  for  me  ever  to  be  like  any  of  the  saints 
— unless,  indeed,  it  is  St.  Christopher,  whose  legend  is 
often  a comfort  to  me,  as  our  grandmother  used  to  tell  it 
to  us,  which  was  in  this  way: 


THE  SCHONBERG-CO TTA  FAMIL  Y. 


¥1 


Offerus  was  a soldier,  a heathen,  who  lived  in  the  land  of 
Canaan.  He  had  a body  twelve  ells  long.  He  did  not  like 
to  obey,  but  to  command.  He  did  not  care  what  harm  he 
did  to  others,  but  lived  a very  wild  life,  attacking  and 
plundering  all  who  came  in  his  way.  He  only  wished  for 
one  thing — to  sell  his  services  to  the  Mightiest;  and  as  he 
heard  that  the  emperor  was  in  those  days  the  head  of 
Christendom,  he  said,  “Lord  Emperor,  will  you  have 
me?  To  none  less  will  I sell  my  heart’s  blood.” 

The  emperor  looked  at  his  Samson  strength,  his  giant 
chest,  and  his  mighty  fists,  and  he  said,  “If  thou  wilt  serve 
me  forever,  Offerus,  I will  allow  it.” 

Immediately  the  giant  answered,  “To  serve  you  forever  N 
is  not  so  easily  promised;  but  as  long  as  I am  your  soldier, 
none  in  east  or  west  shall  trouble  you.” 

Thereupon  he  went  with  the  emperor  through  all  the 
land,  and  the  emperor  was  delighted  with  him.  All  the 
soldiers,  in  the  combat  as  at  the  wine-cup,  were  miserable, 
helpless  creatures  compared  with  Offerus. 

Now  the  emperor  had  a harper  who  sang  from  morning 
till  bedtime;  and  whenever  the  emperor  was  weary  with 
the  march  this  minstrel  had  to  touch  his  harp-strings. 
Once,  at  eventide,  they  pitched  the  tents  near  a forest. 
The  emperor  ate  and  drank  lustily;  the  minstrel  sang  a 
merry  song.  But  as,  in  his  song,  he  spoke  of  the  evil  one, 
the  emperor  signed  the  cross  on  his  forehead.  Said  Offerus 
aloud  to  his  comrades,  “What  is  this?  What  jest  is  the 
prince  making  now?”  Then  the  emperor  said,  “Offerus 
listen:  I did  it  on  account  of  the  wicked  fiend  who  is  said 
often  to  haunt  this  forest  with  great  rage  and  fury.”  That 
seemed  marvelous  to  Offerus,  and  he  said,  scornfully,  to 
the  emperor,  “ I have  a fancy  for  wild  boars  and  deer.  Let 
us  hunt  in  this  forest.”  The  emperor  said  softly,  “ Offerus, 
no!  Let  alone  the  chase  in  this  forest,  for  in  filling  thy 
larder  thou  mightest  harm  thy  soul.”  Then  Offerus  made 
a wry  face  and  said,  “The  grapes  are  sour;  if  your  high- 
ness is  afraid  of  the  devil,  I will  enter  the  service  of  this 
lord,  who  is  mightier  than  you.”  Thereupon  he  coolly  de- 
manded his  pay,  took  his  departure,  with  no  very  ceremo- 
nious leave-taking,  and  strode  off  cheerily  into  the  thickest 
depths  of  the  forest. 

In  a wild  clearing  of  the  forest  he  found  the  devil’s  altar, 
built  of  black  cinders;  and  on  it,  in  the  moonlight,  gleamed 


48  THE  SCHOJSTB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

the  white  skeletons  of  men  and  horses.  Offerus  was  in  no 
way  terrified,  hut  quietly  inspected  the  skulls  and  bones; 
then  he  called  three  times  in  a loud  voice  on  the  evil  one, 
and  seating  himself  fell  asleep,'  and  soon  began  to  snore. 
When  it  was  midnight,  the  earth  seemed  to  crack,  and  on 
a coal-black  horse  he  saw  a pitch-black  rider,  who  rode  to 
him  furiously,  and  sought  to  bind  him  with  solemn  prom- 
ises. But  Offerus  said,  “We  shall  see.”  Then  they  went 
together  through  the  kingdoms  of  the  world,  and  Offerus 
found  him  a better  master  than  the  emperor — needed  seldom 
to  polish  his  armor,  but  had  plenty  of  feasting  and  fun. 
However,  one  day  as  they  went  along  the  highroad,  three 
tall  crosses  stood  before  them.  Then  the  Black  Prince 
suddenly  had  a cold,  and  said,  “Let  us  creep  round  by  the 
byroad.”  Said  Offerus,  “Methinks  you  are  afraid  of 
those  gallowses,”  and,  drawing  his  bow,  he  shot  an  arrow 
into  the  middle  cross.  “What  bad  manners!”  said  Satan, 
softly;  “do  you  not  know  that  He  who  in  his  form  as  a 
servant  is  the  son  of  Mary,  now  exercises  great  power?” 
“If  that  is  the  case,”  said  Offerus,  “I  came  to  you  fettered 
by  no  promise;  now  I will  seek  further  for  the  Mightiest, 
whom  only  I will  serve.”  Then  Satan  went  off  with  a 
mocking  laugh,  and  Offerus  went  on  his  way,  asking  every 
traveler  he  met  for  the  Son  of  Mary.  But,  alas!  few  bare 
him  in  their  hearts,  and  no  one  could  tell  the  giant  where 
the  Lord  dwelt,  until  one  evening  Offerus  found  an  old 
pious  hermit,  who  gave  him  a night’s  lodging  in  his  cell, 
and  sent  him  the  next  morning  to  the  Carthusian  cloister. 
There  the  lord  prior  listened  to  Offerus,  showed  him  plainly 
the  path  of  faith,  and  told  him  he  must  fast  and  pray,  as 
John  the  Baptist  did  of  old  in  the  wilderness.  But  he  re- 
plied, “ Locusts  and  wild  honey,  my  lord,  are  quite  contrary 
to  my  nature,  and  I do  not  know  any  prayers.  I should 
lose  my  strength  altogether,  and  had  rather  not  go  to 
heaven  at  all  than  in  that  way.”  “ Beckless  man !”  said 
the  prior.  “However,  you  may  try  another  way:  give 
yourself  up  heartily  to  achieve  some  good  work.”  “Ah! 
let  me  hear,”  said  Offerus;  “I  have  strength  for  that.” 
“See,  there  flows  a mighty  river,  which  hinders  pilgrims  on 
their  way  to  Borne.  It  has  neither  ford  nor  bridge.  Carry 
the  faithful  over  on  thy  back.”  “If  I can  please  the 
Saviour  in  that  way,  willingly  will  I carry  the  travelers  to 
and  fro,”  replied  the  giant;  And  thereupon  he  built  a hut 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


49 


of  reeds,  and  dwelt  thenceforth  among  the  water-rats  and 
beavers  on  the  borders  of  the  river,  carrying  pilgrims  over 
the  river  cheerfully,  like  a camel  or  an  elephant.  But  if 
any  one  offered  him  ferry-money,  he  said,  “ I labor  for  eter- 
nal life.”  And  when  now,  after  many  years,  Offerus’ 
hair  had  grown  white,  one  stormy  night  a plaintive  little 
voice  called  to  him,  “Dear,  good,  tall  Olferus,  carry  me 
across.”  Olferus  was  tired  and  sleepy,  but  he  thought 
faithfully  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  with  weary  arms  seizing  the 
pine  trunk  which  was  his  staff  when  the  floods  swelled 
high,  he  waded  through  the  water  and  nearly  reached  the 
opposite  bank;  but  he  saw  no  pilgrim  there,  so  he  thought, 
“I  was  dreaming,”  and  went  back  and  lay  down  to  sleep 
again.  But  scarcely  had  he  fallen  asleep  when  again  came 
the  little  voice,  this  time  very  plaintive  and  touching, 
“Olferus,  good,  dear,  great,  tall  Offerus,  carry  me  across.” 
Patiently  the  old  giant  crossed  the  river  again  but  neither 
man  nor  mouse  was  to  be  seen,  and  he  went  back  and  lay 
down  again,  and  was  soon  fast  asleep;  when  once  more 
came  the  little  voice,  clear  and  plaintive,  and  imploring, 
“Good,  dear,  giant  Offerus,  carry  me  across.”  The ’third 
time  he  seized  his  pine-stem  and  went  through  the  cold 
river.  This  time  he  found  a tender,  fair  little  boy  with 
golden  hair.  In  his  left  hand  was  the  standard  of  the 
Lamb;  in  his  right,  the  globe.  He  looked  at  the  giant 
with  eyes  full  of  love  and  trust,  and  Offerus  lifted  him  up 
with  two  lingers;  but,  when  he  entered  the  river,  the  little 
child  weighed  on  him  like  a ton.  Heavier  and  heavier 
grew  the  wei^flit,  until  the  water  almost  reached  his  chin; 
great  drops  of  sweat  stood  on  his  brow,  and  he  had  nearly 
sunk  in  the  stream  with  the  little  one.  However,  he 
struggled  through,  and  tottering  to  the  other  side,  set  the 
child  gently  down  on  the  bank,  and  said,  “ My  little  lord, 
prithee,  come  not  this  way  again,  for  scarcely  have  I es- 
caped this  time  with  life.”  But  the  fair  child  baptized 
Offerus  on  the  spot,  and  said  to  him,  “Know  all  thy  sins 
are  forgiven;  and  although  thy  limbs  tottered,  fear  not, 
nor  marvel,  but  rejoice;  thou  hast  carried  the  Saviour  of 
Jhe  world!  For  a token,  plant  thy  pine-trunk,  so  long 
dead  and  leafless,  in  the  earth;  to-morrow  it  shall  shoot  out 
green  twigs.  And  henceforth  thou  shalt  be  called  not 
Offerus,  but  Christopher.”  Then  Christopher  folded  his 
hands  and  prayed  and  said,  “ I feel  my  end  draws  nigh.  My 


50 


THE  SCIIONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


limbs  tremble;  my  strength  fails;  and  God  has  forgiven 
me  all  my  sms.”  Thereupon  the  child  vanished  in  light; 
and  Christopher  set  his  staff  in  the  earth.  And  so  on  the 
morrow,  it  shot  out  green  leaves  and  red  blossoms  like  an 
almond.  And  three  days  afterward  the  angels  carried 
Christopher  to  paradise. 

This  is  the  legend  which  gives  me  more  hope  than  any 
other.  How  sweet  it  would  be,  if  when  I tried  in  some 
humble  way  to  help  one  and  another  on  the  way  to  the 
Holy  City,  when  the  last  burden  was  borne,  and  the 
strength  was  failing,  the  Holy  Child  should  appear  to  me 
and  say,  “ Little  Else,  you  have  done  the  work  I meant  you 
to  do — your  sins  are  forgiven;”  and  then  the  angels  were 
to  come  and  take  me  up  in  their  arms,  and  carry  me  acro’ss 
the  dark  river,  and  my  life  were  to  grow  young  and  bloom 
again  in  paradise,  like  St.  Christopher’s  withered  staff! 

But  to  watch  all  the  long  days  of  life  by  the  river,  and 
carry  the  burdens,  and  not  know  if  we  are  doing  the  right 
thing  after  all — that  is  what  is  so  hard ! 

Sweet,  when  the  river  was  crossed,  to  find  that  in  fulfill- 
ing some  little,  humble,  everyday  duty,  one  had  actually 
beep  serving  and  pleasing  the  Mightiest,  the  Saviour  of  the 
world.  But  if  one  could  only  know  it  while  one  was 
struggling  through  the  flood,  how  delightful  that  would  be! 
How  little  one  would  mind  the  icy  water,  or  the  aching 
shoulders,  or  the  tottering,  failing  limb$ ! 


PART  IV. 

else’s  chronicle  continued. 

Eisenach,  January,  1505. 

Fritz  is  at  home  with  us  again.  He  looks  as  much  a 
man  now  as  our  father,  with  his  mustache  and  his  sword. 
How  cheerful  the  sound  of  his  firm  step  and  his  deep  voice 
makes  the  house!  When  I look  at  him  sometimes,  as  he 
tosses  the  children  and  catches  them  in  his  arms,  or  as  he 
flings  the  balls  with  Christopher  and  Pollux,  or  shoots  wfith 
bow  and  arrows  in  the  evenings  at  the  city  games,  my  old 
wish  recurs  that  he  had  lived  in  the  days  when  our  ances- 
tors dwelt  in  the  castles  in  Bohemia,  and  that  Fritz  had 
been  a knight?  to  ride  at  the  head  of  his  retainers  to  battle 


THE  SCHON BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


51 

for  some  good  cause — against  the  Turks,  for  instance,  who 
are  now,  they  say,  threatening  the  empire,  and  all  Chris- 
tendom. My  little  world  at  home  is  wide  indeed,  and  full 
enough  for  me,  hut  this  burgher  life  seems  narrow  and  poor 
for  him.  I should  like  him  to  have  to  do  with  men  instead, 
of  books.  Women  can  read,  and  learn,  and  think,  if  they 
have  time  (although,  of  course,  not  as  well  as  men  can); 
I have  even  heard  of  women  writing  books.  St.  Barbara 
and  St.  Catherine  understood  astronomy,  and  astrology, 
and  philosophy,  and  could  speak  I do  not  know  how  many 
languages.  But  they  could  not  have  gone  forth  armed 
with  shield  and  spear  like  St.  George  of  Capadocia,  to  de- 
liver the  fettered  princess  and  slay  the  great  African 
dragon.  And  I should  like  Fritz  to  do  what  women  can 
not  do.  There  is  such  strength  in  his  light,  agile  frame, 
and  such  power  in  his  dark  eyes;  although,  certainly,  after 
all  he  had  written  to  us  about  his  princely  fare  at  the 
House  at  Erfurt,  where  he  is  a beneficiary,  our  mother  and 
I did  not  expect  to  have  seen  his  face  looking  so  hollow 
and  thin. 

He  has  brought  me  back  my  godmother’s  gulden.  He 
says  he  is  an  independent  man,  earning  bis  own  livelihood, 
and  quite  above  receiving  any  such  gratuities.  However, 
as  I devoted  it  to  Fritz  I feel  I have  a right  to  spend  it  on 
him,  which  is  a great  comfort,  because  I can  provide  a bet- 
ter table  than  we  can  usually  afford,  during  the  few  days  he 
will  stay  with  us,  so  that  he  may  never  guess  how  pinched 
we  often  are. 

I am  ashamed  of  myself,  but  there  is  something  in  this 
return  of  Fritz  which  disappoints  me.  I have  looked  for- 
ward to  it  day  and  night  through  all  these  two  years  with 
such  longing.  I thought  we  should  begin  again  exactly 
where  we  left  off.  I pictured  to  myself  the  old  daily  life 
with  him  going  on  again  as  of  old.  I thought  of  our  sit- 
ting in  the  lumber-room,  and  chatting  over  all  our  perplex- 
ities, our  own  and  the  family’s,  pouring  our  hearts  into  each 
other  without  reserve  or  fear,  so  that  it  was  scarcely  like 
talking  at  all,  but  like  thinking  aloud. 

And,  now,  instead  of  our  being  acquainted  with  every 
detail  of  each  other’s  daily  life,  so  that  we  are  aware  what 
we  are  feeling  without  speaking  about  it,  there  is  a whole 
history  of  new  experience  to  be  narrated  step  by  step,  and 
we  do  not  seem  to  know  where  to  begin  None  of  the 


52 


THE  SCH0NBE1W-C0TTA  FAMILY. 


others  can  feel  this  as  I do.  He  is  all  to  the  children  and 
our  parents  that  he  ever  was,  and  why  should  I expect 
more?  Indeed,  I scarcely  know  what  I did  expect,  or  what 
I do  want.  Why  should  Fritz  be  more  to  me  than  to  any 
one  else?  It  is  selfish  to  wish  it,  and  it  is  childish  to  im- 
agine that  two  years  could  bring  no  change.  Could  I have 
wished  it?  Do  I not  glory  in  his  strength,  and  in  his  free 
and  manly  bearing?  And  could  I wish  a student  at  the 
great  university  of  Erfurt,  who  is  soon  to  be  a bachelor  of 
arts,  to  come  and  sit  on  the  piles  of  old  books  in  our 
lumber-room,  and  to  spend  his  time  in  gossiping  with  me? 
Besides,  what  have  I to  say?  And  yet,  this  evening,  when 
the  twilight-hour  came  round  for  the  third  time  since  he 
returned,  and  he  seemed  to  forget  all  about  it,  I could  not 
help  feeling  troubled,  and  so  took  refuge  here  by  myself. 

Fritz  has  been  sitting  in  the  family-room  for  the  last 
hour,  with  all  the  children  round  him,  telling  them  histories 
of  what  the  students  do  at  Erfurt;  of  their  poetical  club, 
where  they  meet  and  recite  their  own  verses,  or  translations 
of  the  ancient  books  which  have  been  unburied  lately,  and 
yet  are  fresher,  he  says,  than  any  new  ones,  and  set  every 
one  thinking;  of  the  debating  meeting,  and  the  great  sing- 
ing parties,  where  hundreds  of  voices  join,  making  music 
fuller  than  any  organ — in  both  of  which  Martin  Luther 
seems  a leader  and  a prince;  and  then  of  the  fights  among 
the  students,  in  which  I do  not  think  Martin  Luther  has 
joined,  but  which,  certainly,  interest  Christopher  and  Pol- 
lux more  than  anything  else.  The  boys  were  standing  on 
each  side  of  Fritz,  listening  with  wide-open  eyes;  Chriem- 
hild  and  Atlantis  had  crept  close  behind  him  with  their 
sewing;  little  Thekla  was  on  his  knee,  playing  with  his 
sword  girdle;  and  little  Eva  was  perched  in  her  favorite 
place  on  the  window-sill,  in  front  of  him.  At  first  she  kent 
at  a distance  from  him,  and  said  nothing;  not,  I think, 
from  shyness,  for  I do  not  believe  that  child  is  afraid  of  any 
one  or  anything,  but  from  a quaint  way  she  has  of  observ- 
ing people,  as  if  she  were  learning  them  through  like  a new 
language,  or  like  a sovereign  making  sure  of  the  character 
of  a new  subject  before  she  admits  him  into  her  service. 
The  idea  of  the  little  creature  treating  our  Fritz  in  that 
grand  style!  But  it  is  of  no  use  resisting  it.  IJe  has 
passed  through  his  probation  like  the  rest  of  us,  and  is  as 
much  flattered  as  the  grandmother,  or  any  of  us,  at  being 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


53 


admitted  into  her  confidence.  When  I left,  Eva,  who  had 
been  listening  for  some  time  with  great  attention  to  his 
student-stories,  had  herself  become  the  chief  speaker,  and 
the  whole  party  were  attending  with  riveted  interest  while 
she  related  to  them  her  favorite  legend  of  St.  Catherine. 
They  had  all  heard  it  before,  but  in  some  way  when  Eva 
tells  these  histories  they  always  seem  new.  I suppose  it  is 
because  she  believes  them  so  fervently;  it  is  not  as  if  she 
were  repeating  something  she  had  heard,  but  quietly  nar- 
rating something  she  has  seen,  much  as  one  would  imagine 
an  angel  might  who  had  been  watching  unseen  while  it  all 
happened.  And,  meantime,  her  eyes,  when  she  raises 
them,  with  their  fringe  of  long  lashes,  seem  to  look  at  once 
into  your  heart  and  into  heaven. 

No  wonder  Fritz  forgets  the  twilight  hour.  But  it  is 
strange  he  has  never  once  asked  about  our  chronicle.  Of 
that,  however,  I am  glad,  because  I would  not  for  the  world 
show  him  the  narrative  of  our  struggles. 

Can  it  be  possible  I am  envious  of  little  Eva,  dear,  little, 
loving,  orphan  Eva?  I do  rejoice  that  all  the  world  should 
love  him.  Yet,  it  was  so  happy  to  be  Fritz’s  only  friend; 
and  why  should  a little  stranger  child  steal  my  precious 
twilight-hour  from  me? 

Well,  I suppose  Aunt  Agnes  was  right,  and  I made  an 
idol  of  Fritz,  and  God  was  angry,  and  I am  being  punished. 
But  the  saints  seem  to  find  a kind  of  sacred  pleasure  in 
their  punishments,  and  I do  not;  nor  do  I feel  at  all  the 
better  for  them,  but  the  worse,  which  is  another  proof  how 
altogether  hopeless  it  is  for  me  to  try  to  be  a saint. 

Eisexach,  February. 

As  I wkote  those  last  words  in  the  deepening  twilight, 
two  strong  hands  were  laid  very  gently  on  my  shoulder, 
and  a voice  said : 

“ Sister  Else,  why  can  you  not  show  me  your  chronicle?” 

I could  make  no  reply. 

“ You  are  convicted,”  rejoined  the  same  voice.  “Do  you 
think  I do  not  know  where  that  gulden  came  from?  Let 
me  see  your  godmother’s  purse.” 

I began  to  feel  the  tears  choking  me;  but  Fritz  did  not 
seem  to  notice  them. 

“Else,”  he  said,  “you  may  practice  your  little  deceptive 
arts  on  all  the  rest  of  the  family,  but  they  will  not  do  with 


54  THE  schonberg-cqtta  family. 

me.  Do  you  think  yon  will  ever  persuade  me  you  have 
grown  thin  by  eating  sausages  and  cakes  and  wonderful 
holiday  puddings  every  day  of  your  life?  Do  you  think 
the  hungry  delight  in  the  eyes  of  those  boys  was  occasioned 
by  their  everyday,  ordinary  fare?  Do  you  think,”  he 
added,  taking  my  hands  in  one  of  his,  “I  did  not  see  how 
blue  and  cold,  and  covered  with  chilblains  these  little  hands 
were,  which  piled  up  the  great  logs  on  the  hearth  when  I 
came  in  this  morning?” 

Of  course  I could  do  nothing  but  put  my  head  on  his 
shoulder  and  cry  quietly.  It  was  of  no  use  denying  any- 
thing. Then  he  added  rapidly,  in  a low  deep,  voice: 

“Do  you  think  I could  help  seeing  our  mother  at  her  old 
devices,  pretending  she  had  no  appetite,  and  liked  nothing 
so  much  as  bones  and  sinews?” 

“Oh,  Fritz,”  I sobbed,  “I  cannot  help  it.  What  am  I 
to  do?” 

“At  least,”  he  said,  more  cheerfully,  “promise  me,  little 
woman,  you  will  never  make  a distinguished  stranger  of 
vour  brother  again,  and  endeavor  by  all  kinds  of  vain  and 
deceitful  devices  to  draw  the  whole  weight  of  the  family 
cares  on  your  own  shoulders.” 

“Do  you  think  it  is  a sin  I ought  to  confess,  Fritz?”  I 
said;  “I  did  not  mean  it  deceitfully;  but  I am  always 
making  such  blunders  about  right  and  wrong.  What  can 
I do?” 

“Does  Aunt  Ursula  know?”  he  asked  rather  fiercely. 
“No;  the  mother  will  not  let  me  tell  any  one.  She 
thinks  they  would  reflect  on  our  father;  and  he  told  her 
only  last  week,  he  has  a plan  about  a new  way  of  smelting 
lead,  which  is,  I think,  to  turn  it  all  into  silver.  That 
would  certainly  be  a wonderful  discovery;  and  he  thinks 
the  elector  would  take  it  up  at  once,  and  we  should  prob- 
ably have  to  leave  Eisenach  and  live  near  the  electoral 
court.  Perhaps  even  the  emperor  would  require  us  to 
communicate  the  secret  to  him,  and  then  we  should  have  to 
leave  the  country  altogether;  for  you  know  there  are  great 
lead-mines  in  Spain;  and  if  once  people  could  make  silver 
out  of  lead,  it  would  be  much  easier  and  safer  than  going 
across  the  great  ocean  to  procure  the  native  silver  from  che 
Indian  savages.” 

Fritz  drew  a long  breath. 

“And  meantime?”  he  said. 


THE  SCHONBERG-CO  TTA  FA  MIL  Y.  55 

“ Well,  meantime!”  I said,  “it  is  of  course  sometimes  a 
little, difficult  to  get  on.” 

He  mused  a little  while,  and  then  he  said: 

“Little  Else,  I have  thought  of  a plan  which  may,  I 
think,  bring  us  a few  guldens — until  the  process  of  trans- 
muting lead  into  silver  is  completed.” 

“Of  course,”  I said,  “after  that  we  shall  want  nothing, 
but  be  able  to  give  to  those  who  do  want.  And  oh,  Fritz! 
how  well  we  shall  understand  how  to  help  people  who  are 
poor.  Do  you  think  that  is  why  God  lets  us  be  so  poor 
ourselves  so  long,  and  never  seems  to  hear  our  prayers?” 
“It  would  be  pleasant  to  think  so,  Else,”  said  Fritz, 
gravely;  “but  it  is  very  difficult  to  understand  how  to 
please  God,  or  how  to  make  our  prayers  reach  him  at  all — 
at  least  when  we  are  so  often  feeling  and  doing  wrong.” 

It  cheered  me  to  see  that  Fritz  does  not  despair  of  the 
great  invention  succeeding  one  day.  He  did  not  tell  me 
what  his  own  plan  is. 

Does  Fritz  then  also  feel  so  sinful  and  so  perplexed  how 
to  please  God?  Perhaps  a great  many  people  feel  the 
same.  It  is  very  strange.  If  it  had  only  pleased  God  to 
make  it  a little  plainer!  I wonder  if  that  book  Eva  lost 
would  tell  us  anything? 

After  that  evening  the  barrier  between  me  and  Fritz  was 
of  course  quite  gone,  and  wre  seemed  closer  than  ever.  We 
had  delightful  twilight  talks  in  our  lumber-room,  and  I 
love  him  more  than  ever.  So  that  Aunt  Agnes  would,  I 
suppose,  think  me  more  of  an  idolater  than  before.  But 
it  is  very  strange  that  idolatry  should  seem  to  do  me  so 
much  good.  I seem  to  love  all  the  world  better  for  loving 
Fritz,  and  to  find  everything  easier  to  bear,  by  having  him 
to  unburden  everything  on,  so  that  I had  never  fewer  little 
sins  to  confess  than  during  the  two  weeks  Fritz  was  at 
home.  If  God  had  only  made  loving  brothers  and  sisters 
and  the  people  at  home  the  way  to  please  him,  instead  of 
not  loving  them  too  much,  or  leaving  them  all  to  bury 
one’s  self  in  a cold  convent,  like  Aunt  Agnes! 

Little  Eva  actually  persuaded  Fritz  to  begin  teaching 
her  the  Latin  grammar!  I suppose  she  wishes  to  be  like 
her  beloved  St.  Catherine,  who  was  so  learned.  And  she 
says  all  the  holy  books,  the  prayers  and  the  hymns,  are  in 
Latin,  so  that  she  thinks  it  must  be  a language  God  par- 
ticularly loves.  She  asked  me  a few  days  since  if  they 
speak  Latin  in  heaven. 


56 


THE  SGIWNB  ERG-COTTA  FAMIL  7. 


Of  course  I could  not  tell.  I told  her  I believed  the 
Bible  was  originally  written  in  two  other  languages,  the 
languages  of  the  Greeks  and  the  Jews,  and  that  I had 
heard  some  one  say  Adam  and  Eve  spoke  the  Jews’  lan- 
guage in  paradise,  which  I suppose  God  taught  them. 

But  I have  been  thinking  over  it  since,  and  I should  not 
wonder  if  Eva  is  right. 

Because,  unless  Latin  is  the  language  of  the  saints  and 
holy  angels  in  heaven,  why  should  God  wish  the  priests  to 
speak  it  everywhere,  and  the  people  to  say  the  ave  and 
paternoster  in  it?  We  should  understand  it  all  so  much 
better  in  German;  but  of  course  Latin  is  the  language  of 
the  blessed  saints  and  angels,  that  is  a reason  for  it.  It  we 
do  not  always  understand,  they  do,  which  is  a great  comfort. 
Only  I think  it  is  a very  good  plan  of  little  Eva’s  to  try 
and  learn  Latin ; and  when  I have  more  time  to  be  reli- 
gious, perhaps  I may  try  also. 


EXTRACTS  PROM  FRIEDRICH’S  CHRONICLE. 

Erfurt,  1505. 

The  university  seems  rather  a cold  world  after  the  dear 
old  home  at  Eisenach.  But  it  went  to  my  heart  to  see  how 
our  mother  and  Else  struggle  and  how  worn  and  thin  they 
look.  Happily  for  them,  they  have  still  hope  in  the  great 
invention,  and  I would  not  take  it  away  for  the  world. 
But  meantime  I must  at  once  do  something  to  help. 
I can  sometimes  save  some  viands  from  my  meals,  which 
are  portioned  out  to  us  liberally,  on  this  foundation,  and 
sell  them.  And  I can  occasionally  earn  a little  by  copying 
themes  for  the  richer  students,  or  sermons,  and  postils  for 
the  monks.  The  printing  press  has  certainly  made  that 
means  of  maintenance  more  precarious;  but  printed  books 
are  still  very  dear,  and  also  very  large,  and  the  priests  are 
often  glad  of  small  copies  of  fragments  of  the  postils  or 
orations  of  the  fathers,  written  oft  in  a small,  clear  hand, 
to  take  with  them  on  their  circuits  around  the  villages. 
There  is  also  writing  to  be  done  for  the  lawyers,  so  that  I 
do  not  despair  of  earning  something;  and  if  my  studies  are 
retarded  a little,  it  does  not  so  much  matter.  It  is  not  for 
me  to  aspire  to  great  things,  unless  indeed  they  can  be 
reached  by  small  and  patient  steps.  I have  a work  to  do 


THE  SCHONB ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY . 


5? 


for  the  family.  My  youth  must  be  given  to  supporting 
them  by  the  first  means  I can  find.  If  I succeed,  perhaps 
Christopher  or  Pollux  will  have  leisure  to  aim  higher  than 
I can;  or,  perhaps,  in  middle  or  later  life,  I myself  shall 
have  leisure  to  pursue  the  studies  of  these  great  old  classics, 
which  seem  to  make  the  horizon  of  our  thoughts  so  wide, 
and  the  world  so  glorious  and  large,  and  life  so  deep.  It 
would  certainly  be  a great  delight  to  devote  one’s,  self,  as 
Martin  Luther  is  now  able  to  do,  to  literature  and  philoso- 
phy. His  career  is  opening  nobly.  This  spring  he  has 
taken  his  degree  as  master  of  arts,  and  he  has  been  lecturing 
on  Aristotle’s  physics  and  logic.  He  has  great  power  of 
making  dim  things  clear,  and  old  things  fresh.  His 
lectures  are  crowded.  He  is  also  studying  law,  in  order  to 
qualify  himself  for  some  office  in  the  state.  His  parents 
(judging  from  his  father’s  letters)  seem  to  center  all  their 
hopes  in  him ; and  it  is  almost  the  same  here  at  the  univer- 
sity. Great  things  are  expected  of  him;  indeed  there 
scarcely  seems  any  career  that  is  not  open  to  him.  And 
he  is  a man  of  such  heart,  as  well  as  intellect,  that  he 
seems  to  make  all  the  university  professors,  as  well  as  the 
students,  look  on  him  as  a kind  of  possession  of  their  own. 
All  seem  to  feel  a property  in  his  success.  Just  as  it  was 
with  our  little  circle  at  Eisenach  so  it  is  with  the  great  cir- 
cle at  the  university.  He  is  our  Master  Martin;  and  in 
every  step  of  his  ascent  we  ourselves  feel  a little  higher.  I 
wonder,  if  his  fame  should  indeed  spread  as  we  anticipate, 
if  it  will  be  the  same  one  day  with  all  Germany?  if  the 
whole  land  will  say  exultingly  by-and-by — our  Martin 
Luther? 

Not  that  he  is  without  enemies;  his  temper  is  hot  and 
his  heart  too  warm  for  that  negative  distinction  of  phleg- 
matic negative  natures. 

June,  1505. 

Martin  Luther  came  to  me  a few  days  since,  looKing 
terribly  agitated.  His  friend  Alexius  has  been  assassinated, 
and  he  takes  it  exceedingly  to  heart;  not  only,  I think, 
because  of  the  loss  of  one  he  loved,  but  because  it  brings 
death  so  terribly  near,  and  awakens  again  those  questionings 
which  I know  are  in  the  depths  of  his  heart,  as  well  as  of 
mine,  about  God,  and  judgment,  and  the  dark,  dread  future 


58  THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

before  os,  which  we  cannot  solve,  yet  cannot  escape  not 
forget. 

To-day  we  met  again,  and  he  was  full  of  a book  he  had 
discovered  in  the  university  library,  where  he  spends  most 
of  his  leisure  hours.  It  was  a Latin  Bible,  which  he  had 
never  seen  before  in  his  life.  He  marveled  greatly  to  see 
so  much  more  in  it  than  in  the  Evangelia  read  in  the 
churches,  or  in  the  collections  of  homilies.  He  was  called 
away  to  lecture,  or,  he  said,  he  could  have  read  on  for 
hours.  Especially  one  history  seems  to  have  impressed  him 
deeply.  It  was  in  the  Old  Testament.  It  was  the  story  of 
the  child  Samuel  and  his  mother  Hannah.  “He  read  it 
quickly  through,”  he  said,  “with  hearty  delight  and  joy;” 
and  because  this  was  all  new  to  him,  he  began  to  wish  from 
the  bottom  of  his  heart  that  God  would  one  day  bestow  on 
him  such  a book  for  his  own. 

I suppose  it  is  the  thought  of  his  own  pious  mother 
which  makes  this  history  interest  him  so  peculiarly.  It  is 
indeed  a beautiful  history,  as  he  told  it  me,  and  makes  one 
almost  wish  one  had  been  born  in  the  times  of  the  old 
Hebrew  monarchy.  It  seems  as  if  God  listened  so  graciously 
and  readily  then  to  that  poor  sorrowful  woman’s  prayers. 
And  if  we  could  only,  each  of  us^  hear  that  voice  from 
heaven,  how  joyful  it  would  be  to  reply,  like  that  blessed 
child,  “Speak,  Lord,  for  thy  servant  heareth;”  and  then 
to  learn,  without  possibility  of  mistake,  what  God  really 
requires  of  each  of  us.  I suppose,  however,  the  monks  do 
feel  as  sure  of  their  vocation  as  the  holy  child  of  old,  when 
they  leave  home  and  the  world  for  the  service  of  the 
church.  It  would  be  a great  help  if  other  people  had  voca- 
tions to  their  various  works  in  life,  like  the  prophet  Samuel 
and  (I  suppose)  the  monks,  that  we  might  all  go  on  fear- 
lessly, with  a firm  step,  each  in  his  appointed  path,  and 
feel  sure  that  we  are  doing  the  right  thing,  instead  of  per- 
haps drawing  down  judgments  on  those  we  would  die  to 
serve,  by  our  mistakes  and  sins.  It  can  hardly  be  intended 
that  all  men  should  be  monks  and  nuns.  Would  to  heaven, 
therefore,  that  laymen  had  also  their  vocation,  instead  of 
this  terrible  uncertainty  and  doubt  that  will  shadow  the 
heart  at  times,  that  we  may  have  missed  our  path  (as  I did 
that  night  in  the  snow-covered  forest),  and,  like  Cain,  be 
flying  from  the  presence  of  God,  and  gathering  on  us  and 
ours  his  curse. 


THE  8CH0NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 


59 


July  12,  1505. 

There  is  a great  gloom  over  the  university.  The  plague 
is  among  us.  Many  are  lying  dead  who,  only  last  week, 
were  full  of  youth  and  hope.  Numbers  of  the  professors, 
masters  and  students,  have  fled  to  their  homes,  or  to  various 
villages  in  the  nearest  reaches  of  the  Thuringian  forest. 
The  churches  are  thronged  at  all  the  services.  The  priests 
and  monks  (those  who  remain  in  the  infected  city)  take 
advantage  of  the  terror  the  presence  of  the  pestilence  ex- 
cites, to  remind  people  of  the  more  awful  terrors  of  that 
dreadful  day  of  judgment  and  wrath  which  no  one  will  be 
able  to  flee.  Women,  and  sometimes  men,  are  borne  faint- 
ing from  the  churches,  and  often  fall  at  once  under  the 
infection,  and  never  are  seen  again.  Martin  Luther  seems 
much  troubled  in  mind.  This  epidemic,  following  so  close 
on  the  assassination  of  his  friend,  seems  to  overwhelm  him. 
But  he  does  not  talk  of  leaving  the  city.  Perhaps  the  ter- 
rors which  weigh  most  on  him  are  those  the  preachers  recall 
so  vividly  to  us  just  now,  from  which  there  is  no  flight  by 
change  of  place,  but  only  by  change  of  life.  During  this 
last  week,  especially  since  he  was  exposed  to  a violent 
thunder-storm  on  the  highroad  near  Erfurt,  he  has  seemed 
strangely  altered.  A deep  gloom  is  on  his  face,  and  he 
seems  to  avoid  his  old  friends.  I have  scarcely  spoken  ta 
him. 

July  14. 

To-day,  to  my  great  surprise,  Martin  has  invited  me  and 
several  other  of  his  friends  to  meet  at  his  rooms  on  the  day 
after  to-morrow,  to  pass  a social  evening  in  singing  and 
feasting.  The  plague  has  abated ; yet  I rather  wonder  at 
any  one  thinking  of  merry-making  yet.  They  say,  how- 
ever, that  a merry  heart  is  the  best  safeguard. 

July  17. 

The  secret  of  Martin  Luther’s  feast  is  open  now.  The 
whole  university  is  in  consternation.  He  has  decided  on 
becoming  a monk.  Many  think  it  is  a sudden  impulse, 
which  may  yet  pass  away.  I do  not.  I believe  it  is  the 
result  of  the  conflicts  of  years,  and  that  he  has  only  yielded, 
in  this  act,  to  convictions  which  have  been  recurring  to  him 
continually  during  all  his  brilliant  university  career. 


eo 


TEE  SCHONBEEG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 


Never  did  he  seem  more  animated  than  yesterday  even- 
ing'. The  hours  flew  by  in  eager,  cheerful  conversation. 
A weight  seemed  removed  from  us.  The  pestilence  was 
departing;  the  professors  and  students  were  returning. 
We  felt  life  resuming  its  old  course,  and  ventured  once 
more  to  look  forward  with  hope.  Many  of  us  had  com- 
pleted our  academical  course,  and  were  already  entering  the 
larger  world  beyond — the  university  of  life.  Some  of  us 
had  appointments  already  promised  and  most  of  us  had  hopes 
of  great  things  in  the  future;  the  less  definite  the  pros- 
pects, perhaps  the  most  brilliant.  Martin  Luther  did  not 
hazard  any  speculations  as  to  his  future  career;  hut  that 
surprised  none  of  us.  His  fortune,  we  said,  was  insured 
already;  and  many  a jesting  claim  was  put  in  for  his 
future  patronage,  when  he  should  he  a great  man. 

We  had  excellent  music  also,  as  always  at  any  social 
gathering  where  Martin  Luther  is.  His  clear,  true  voice 
was  listened  to  with  applause  in  many  a well-known  song, 
and  echoed  in  joyous  choruses  afterward  by  the  whole 
party.  So  the  evening  passed,  until  the  university  hour 
for  repose  had  nearly  arrived;  when  suddenly,  in  the  silence 
after  the  last  note  of  the  last  chorus  had  died  away,  he  bid 
us  all  farewell;  for  on  the  morrow,  he  said,  he  proposed  to 
enter  the  Augustinian  monastery  as  a novice!  At  first, 
some  treated  this  as  a jest;  but  his  look  and  bearing  soon 
banished  that  idea.  Then  all  earnestly  endeavored  to  dis- 
suade him  from  his  purpose.  Some  spoke  of  the  expecta- 
tions the  university  had  formed  of  him — others,  of  the 
career  in  the  world  open  to  him;  but  at  all  this  he  only 
smiled.  When,  however,  one  of  us  reminded  him  of  his 
father,  and  the  disappointment  it  might  cause  in  his  home, 
I noticed  that  a change  came  over  his  face,  and  I thought 
there  was  a slight  quiver  on  his  lip.  But  all — friendly  re- 
mark, calm  remonstrance,  fervent,  affectionate  entreaties — 
alJ  were  unavailing. 

“ To-day,”  he  said,  “you  see  me;  after  this,  you  will  see 
me  no  more.” 

Thus  we  separated.  But  this  morning,  when  some  of 
his  nearest  friends  went  to  his  rooms  early,  with  the  faint 
hope  of  yet  inducing  him  to  listen,  while  we  pressed  on  him 
the  thousand  unanswerable  arguments  which  had  occurred 
to  us  since  we  parted  from  him,  his  rooms  were  empty,  and 
he  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  To  all  our  inquiries  we 


THE  SCHONBEUG-GO TTA  FAMILY. 


61 


ceived  no  reply  but  that  Master  Martin  had  gone  that 
morning,  before  it  was  light,  to  the  Augustinian  cloister. 

Thither  we  followed  him,  and  knocked  loudly  at  the 
heavy  convent  gates.  After  some  minutes  they  were 
slightly  opened,  and  a sleepy  porter  appeared. 

“Is  Martin  Luther  here?”  we  asked. 

“He  is  here,”  was  the  reply;  not,  we  thought,  without  a 
little  triumph  in  the  tone. 

“We  wish  to  speak  with  him,”  demanded  one  of  us. 

“No  one  is  to  speak  with  him,”  was  the  grim  rejoinder. 

“Until  when?”  we  asked. 

There  was  a little  whispering  inside,  and  then  came  the 
decisive  answer,  “Not  for  a month,  at  least.” 

We  would  have  lingered  to  parley  further,  but  the  heavy 
nailed  doors  were  closed  against  us,  we  heard  the  massive 
bolts  rattle  as  they  were  drawn,  and  all  our  assaults  with 
fists  or  iron  staffs  on  the  convent  gates,  from  that  moment 
did  not  awaken  another  sound  within. 

“Head  to  the  world,  indeed!”  murmured  one  at  length; 
“the  grave  could  not  be  more  silent.” 

Baffled,  and  hoarse  with  shouting,  we  wandered  back 
again  to  Martin  Luther’s  rooms.  The  old  familiar  rooms, 
where  we  had  so  lately  spent  hours  with  him  in  social  con- 
verse; where  I and  many  of  us  had  spent  so  many  an  hour 
in  intimate,  affectionate  intercourse — his  presence  would 
be  there  no  more;  and  the  unaltered  aspect  of  the  mute, 
inanimate  things  only  made  the  emptiness  and  change 
more  painful  by  the  contrast. 

And  yet,  when  we  began  to  examine  more  closely,  the 
aspect  of  many  things  was  changed.  His  flute  and  lute, 
indeed,  lay  on  the  table,  just  as  he  had  left  them  on  the 
previous  evening.  But  the  books — scholastic,  legal,  and 
classical — were  piled  up  carefully  in  one  corner,  and 
directed  to  the  booksellers.  In  looking  over  the  well- 
known  volumes,  I only  missed  two,  Virgil  and  Plautus;  I 
suppose  he  took  these  with  him.  While  we  were  looking 
at  a parcel  neatly  rolled  up  in  another  place,  the  old  man 
who  kept  his  rooms  in  order  came  in,  and  said,  “ That  is 
Master  Martin’s  master’s  robe,  his  holiday  attire,  and  his 
master’s  ring.  They  are  to  be  sent  to  his  parents  at 
Mansfeld.” 

A choking  sensation  came  over  me  as  I thought  of  the 
father  who  had  struggled  so  hard  to  maintain  his  son,  and. 


62 


THE  8CH ONBERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


had  hoped  so  much  from  him,  receiving  that  packet.  Not 
from  the  dead.  Worse  than  from  the  dead,  it  seemed  to 
me.  Deliberately  self-entombed';  deliberately  with  his  own 
hands  building  up  a barrier  between  him  and  all  who  loved 
him  best.  With  the  dead,  if  they  are  happy,  we  may  hold 
commnnion — at  l&ast  the  creed  speaks  of  the  communion 
of  saints;  we  may  pray  to  them;  or,  at  the  worst,  we  may 
pray  for  them.  But  between  the  son  in  the  convent  and 
the  father  at  Mansfeld,  the  barrier  is  not  merely  one  of 
stone  and  earth.  It  is  of  the  impenetrable  iron  of  will  and 
conscience.  It  would  be  a temptation  now  for  Martin 
Luther  to  pour  out  his  heart  in  affectionate  words  to 
father,  mother,  or  friend. 

And  yet,  if  he  is  right — if  the  flesh  is  only  to  be  subdued, 
if  God  is  only  to  be  pleased,  if  heaven  is  only  to  be  won  in 
this  way — it  is  of  little  moment  indeed  what  the  suffering 
may  be  to  us  or  any  belonging  to  us,  in  this  fleeting  life, 
down  which  the  grim  gates  of  death  which  close  it,  ever 
cast  their  long  shadow. 

May  not  Martin  serve  his  family  better  in  the  cloister 
than  at  the  emperor’s  court,  for  is  not  the  cloister  the  court 
of  a palace  more  imperial?  we  may  say,  the  very  audience- 
chamber  of  the  King  of  kings.  Besides,  if  he  had  a voca- 
tion, what  curse  might  not  follow  despising  it?  Happy  for 
those  whose  vocation  is  so  clear  that  they  dare  not  disobey 
it;  or  whose  hearts  are  so  pure  that  they  would  not  if  they 
dared ! 

July  19. 

These  two  days  the  university  has  been  in  a ferment  at 
the  disappearance  of  Martin  Luther.  Many  are  indignant 
with  him,  and  more  with  the  monks,  who,  they  say,  have 
taken  advantage  of  a fervent  impulse,  and  drawn  him  into 
their  net.  Some,  however,  especially  those  of  the  school  of 
Mutianus — the  humanists — laugh,  and  say  there  are  ways 
through  the  cloister  to  the  court — and  even  to  the  tiara. 
But  those  misunderstand  Martin.  We  who  know  him  are 
only  too  sure  that  he  will  be  a true  monk,  and  that  for  him 
thre  is  no  gate  from  the  cloister  to  the  world. 

It  appears  now  that  he  had  been  meditating  this  step 
more  than  a fortnight. 

On  the  first  of  this  month  (July)  he  was  walking  on  the 
road  between  Erfurt  and  Stotterheim,  when  a thunder. 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


63 


storm,  which  had  been  gathering  over  the  Thnringian  for- 
est, and  weighing  with  heavy  silence  on  the  plague-laden 
air,  suddenly  hurst  over  his  head.  He  was  alone,  and  far 
from  shelter.  Peal  followed  peal,  succeeded  by  terrible 
silences;  the  forked  lightning  danced  wildly  around  him, 
until  at  length  one  terrific  flash  tore  up  the  ground  at  his 
feet,  and  nearly  stunned  him.  He  was  alone,  and  far  from 
shelter;  he  felt  his  soul  alone  and  unsheltered.  The  thun- 
der seemed  to  him  the  angry  voice  of  an  irresistible, 
offended  God.  The  next  flash  might  wither  his  body  to 
ashes,  and  smite  his  soul  into  the  flames  it  so  terribly  re- 
called; and  the  next  thunder-peal  which  followed  might 
echo  like  the  trumpet  of  doom  over  him  lying  unconscious, 
deaf,  and  mute  in  death.  Unconscious  and  silent  as  to  his 
body!  but  who  could  imagine  to  what  terrible  intensity  of 
conscious,  everlasting  anguish  his  soul  might  have  awak- 
ened; what  wailings  might  echo  around  his  lost  spirit, 
what  cries  of  unavailing  entreaty  he  might  be  pouring 
forth!  Unavailing  then!  not  perhaps  wholly  unavailing 
now!  He  fell  on  his  knees — he  prostrated  himself  on  the 
earth,  and  cried  in  his  anguish  and  terror,  “Help,  beloved 
St.  Anne,  and  I will  straightway  become  a monk.” 

The  storm  rolled  slowly  away;  but  the  irrevocable  words 
had  been  spoken,  and  the  peals  of  thunder,  as  they  rumbled 
more  and  more  faintly  in  the  distance,  echoed  on  his  heart 
like  the  dirge  of  all  his  worldly  life. 

He  reached  Erfurt  in  safety,  and,  distrustful  of  his  own 
steadfastness,  breathed  nothing  of  his  purpose  except  to 
those  who  would,  he  thought,  sustain  him  in  it.  This  was 
no  doubt  the  cause  of  his  absent  and  estranged  looks,  and 
of  his  avoiding  us  during  that  fortnight. 

He  confided  his  intention  first  to  Andrew  Staffelstein, 
the  rector  of  the  university,  who  applauded  and  encouraged 
him,  and  took  him  at  once  to  the  new  Franciscan  cloister. 
The  monks  received  him  with  delight,  and  urged  his  im- 
mediately joining  their  order.  He  told  them  he  must  first 
acquaint  his  father  of  his  purpose,  as  an  act  of  confidence 
only  due  to  a parent  who  had  denied  himself  so  much  and 
toiled  so  hard  to  maintain  his  son  liberally  at  the  university. 
But  the  rector  and  the  monks  rejoined  that  he  must  noi 
consult  with  flesh  and  blood;  he  must  forsake  father  and 
mother,  and  steal  away  to  the  cross  of  Christ.  “Whoso 
putteth  his  hand  to  the  plough  and  looketh  back/  -said 


64 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


they,  “is  not  worthy  of  the  kingdom  of  God.”  To  remain 
in  the  world  was  peril.  To  return  to  it  was  perdition. 

A few  religious  women  to  whom  the  rector  mentioned 
Martin’s  intentions,  confirmed  him  in  them  with  fervent 
words  of  admiration  and  encouragement. 

Did  not  one  of  them  relent,  and  take  pity  on  his  mother 
and  his  father?  And  yet,  I doubt  if  Martin’s  mother 
would  have  interposed  one  word  of  remonstrance  between 
him  and  the  cloister.  She  is  a very  religious  woman.  To 
offer  her  son,  her  pride,  to  God,  would  have  been  offering 
the  dearest  part  of  herself;  and  women  have  a strength  in 
self-sacrifice,  and  a mytserious  joy,  which  I feel  no  doubt 
would  have  carried  her  through. 

With  Martin’s  father  it  would  no  doubt  have  been  differ- 
ent. He  has  not  a good  opinion  of  the  monks,  and  he  has 
a very  strong  sense  of  paternal  and  filial  duty.  He,  the 
shrewd,  hard-working,  successful  peasant,  looks  on  the 
monks  as  a company  of  drones,  who.,  in  imagining  they  are 
giving  up  the  delights  of  the  world,  are  often  only  giving 
up  its  duties.  He  was  content  to  go  through  any  self- 
denial  and  toil  that  Martin,  the  pride  of  the  whole  family, 
might  have  room  to  develop  his  abilities.  But  to  have  the 
fruit  of  all  his  counsel,  and  care,  and  work  buried  in  a 
convent,  will  be  very  bitter  to  him.  It  was  terrible  advice 
for  the  rector  to  give  a son.  And  yet,  no  doubt,  God  has 
the  first  claim;  and  to  expose  Martin  to  any  influence 
which  might  have  induced  him  to  give  up  his  vocation, 
would  have  been  perilous  indeed.  No  doubt  the  conflict 
in  Martin’s  heart  was  severe  enough  as  it  was.  His  nature 
is  so  affectionate,  his  sense  of  filial  duty  so  strong,  and  his 
honor  and  love  for  his  parents  so  deep.  Since  the  step  is 
taken,  Holy  Mary  aid  him  not  to  draw  back! 

December,  1505. 

This  morning  I saw  a sight  I never  thought  to  have 
seen.  A monk  in  the  gray  frock  and  cowl  of  the  Augus- 
tinians,  was  pacing  slowly  through  the  streets  with  a heavy 
sack  on  his  shoulders.  The  ground  was  covered  with 
snow,  his  feet  were  bare;  but  it  was  no  unfrequent  sight; 
and  I was  idly  and  half-unconsciously  watching  him  pause 
at  door  after  door,  and,  humbly  receiving  any  contributions 
that  were  offered,  stow  them  away  in  the  convent-sack, 
when  at  length  he  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  house  I was 


THE  8CH0NB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 65 

in,  and  then,  as  his  face  turned  up  toward  the  window 
where  I stood,  I caught  the  eye  of  Martin  Luther! 

I hurried  to  the  door  with  a loaf  in  my  hand,  and,  before 
offering  it  to  him,  would  have  embraced  him  as  of  old;  but 
he  bowed  low  as  he  received  the  bread,  until  his  forehead 
nearly  touched  the  ground,  and,  murmuring  a Latin 
“ Gratias,”  would  have  passed  on. 

“Martin,”  I said,  “do  you  not  know  me?” 

“I  am  on  the  service  of  the  convent,”  he  said.  “It  is 
against  the  rules  to  converse  or  to  linger.” 

It  was  hard  to  let  him  go  without  another  word. 

“God  and  the  saints  help  thee,  Brother  Martin!”  I said. 

He  half  turned,  crossed  himself,  bowed  low  once  more, 
as  a maid-servant  threw  him  some  broken  meat,  said 
meekly,  “God  be  praised  for  every  gift  he  bestoweth,”  and 
went  on  his  toilsome  quest  for  alms  with  stooping  form  and 
downcast  eyes.  But  how  changed  his  face  was!  The  flush 
of  youth  and  health  quite  faded  from  the  thin,  hollow 
cheeks;  the  fire  of  wit  and  fancy  all  dimmed,  in  the  red, 
sunken  eyes!  Fire  there  is  indeed  in  them  still,  but  it 
seemed  to  me  of  the  kind  that  consumes — not  that  warms 
and  cheers. 

They  are  surely  harsh  to  him  at  the  convent.  To  send 
him  who  was  the  pride  and  ornament  of  the  university  not 
six  months  ago,  begging  from  door  to  door,  at  the  houses 
of  friends  and  pupils,  with  whom  he  may  not  even  exchange 
a greeting ! Is  there  no  pleasure  to  the  obscure  and  ignorant 
monks  in  thus  humbling  one  who  was  so  lately  so  far  above 
them?  The  hands  which  wield  such  rods  need  to  be  guided 
by  hearts  that  are  very  noble  or  very  tender.  Nevertheless, 
I have  no  doubt  that  Brother  Martin  inflicts  severer  dis- 
cipline on  himself  than  any  that  can  be  laid  on  him  from 
without.  It  is  no  external  conflict  that  has  thus  worn  and 
bowed  him  down  in  less  than  half  a year. 

I fear  he  will  impose  some  severe  mortification  on  him- 
self for  having  spoken  those  few  words  to  which  I tempted 
him. 

But  if  it  is  his  vocation,  and  if  it  is  for  heaven,  and  if  he 
is  thereby  earning  merits  to  bestow  on  others,  any  conflict 
could  no  doubt  be  endured. 

July,  1506. 

Brother  Martih’s  novitiate  has  expired,  and  he  hub 


66 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


taken  the  name  of  Augustine,  but  we  shall  scarcely  learn 
to  call  him  by  it.  Several  of  us  were  present  a few  days 
since  at  his  taking  the  final  vows  in  the  Augustinian 
church.  Once  more  we  heard  the  clear,  pleasant  voice 
which  most  of  us  had  heard,  in  song  and  animated  conver- 
sation, on  that  farewell  evening.  It  sounded  weak  and 
thin,  no  doubt  with  fasting.  The  garb  of  the  novice  was 
laid  aside,  the  monk’s  frock  was  put  on,  and  kneeling  below 
the  altar  steps,  with  the  prior’s  hands  on  his  bowed  head, 
he  took  the  vow  in  Latin : 

“I,  Brother  Martin,  do  make  profession  and  promise 
obedience  unto  Almighty  God,  unto  Mary,  ever  virgin, 
and  unto  thee,  my  brother,  prior  of  this  cloister,  in  the 
name  and  in  the  stead  of  the  general  prior  of  the  order  of 
the  eremites  of  St.  Augustine,  the  bishop  and  his  regular 
successors,  to  live  in  poverty  and  chastity  after  the  rule  of 
the  said  St.  Augustine  until  death.” 

Then  the  burning  taper,  symbol  of  the  lighted  and  ever 
vigilant  heart,  was  placed  in  his  hand.  The  prior  mur- 
mured a prayer  over  him,  and  instantly  from  the  whole  of 
the  monks  burst  the  hymn  “ Veni  Sancte  Spiritus.” 

He  knelt  while  they  were  singing;  and  then  the  monks 
led  him  up  the  steps  into  the  choir,  and  welcomed  him  with 
the  kiss  of  brotherhood. 

Within  the  screen,  within  the  choir,  among  the  holy 
brotherhood  inside,  who  minister  before  the  altar!  And 
we,  his  old  friends,  left  outside  in  the  nave,  separated  from 
him  forever  by  the  screen  of  that  irrevocable  vow! 

Forever!  is  it  forever?  Will  there  indeed  be  such  a 
veil,  an  impenetrable  barrier,  between  us  and  him  at  the 
judgment  day?  And  we  outside?  A barrier  impassable 
forever  then,  but  not  now,  not  yet! 

January,  1507. 

I have  just  returned  from  another  Christmas  at  home. 
Things  look  a little  brighter  there.  This  last  year,  since  I 
took  my  master’s  degree,  I have  been  able  to  help  them  a 
little  more  effectually  with  the  money  I receive  from  my 
pupils.  It  was  a delight  to  take  our  dear,  self-denying, 
loving  Else  a new  dress  for  holidays,  although  she  protested 
her  old  crimson  petticoat  and  black  jacket  were  as  good  as 
ever.  The  child  Eva  has  still  that  deep,  calm,  earnest  look 
in  her  eyes,  as  if  she  saw  into  the  world  of  things  unseen 


TEE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY,  G? 

and  eternal,  and  saw  there  what  filled  her  heart  with  joy. 
I suppose  it  is  that  angelic  depth  of  her  eyes,  in  contrast 
with  the  guileless,  rosy  smile  of  the  childlike  lips,  which 
gives  the  strange  charm  to  her  face,  and  makes  one  think 
of  the  pictures  of  the  child-angels. 

She  can  read  the  church  Latin  now  easily,  and  delights 
especially  in  the  old  hymns.  When  she  repeats  them  in 
that  soft,  reverent,  childish  voice,  they  seem  to  me  deeper 
and  more  sacred  than  when  sung  by  the  fullest  choir.  Her 
great  favorite  is  St.  Bernard’s  “ Jesu  Dulcis  Memoria,” 
and  his  “ Salve  Caput  Cruentatum but  some  verses  of  the 
“Dies  Irae”  also  are  very  often  on  her  lips.  I used  to  hear 
her  warbling  softly  about  the  house,  or  at  her  work,  with 
a voice  like  a happy  dove  hidden  in  the  depths  of  some 
quiet  wood : 

“ Querens  me  sedisti  lassus,” 

“ Jesu  mi  dulcissime,  Domine  coelorum, 

Conditor  omnipotens,  Rex  universorum; 

Quis  jam  actus  sufficit  mirari  gestorum, 

Quae  te  ferre  compulit  salus  miserorum. 

“Te  de  coeli  caritas  traxit  animarum, 

Pro  quibus  palatium  deserens  praeclarum; 

Miseram  ingrediens  vallem  lacrymarum, 

Opus  durum  suscipis,  et  iter  amarum.”* 

The  sonorous  words  of  the  ancient  imperial  language 
sound  so  sweet  and  strange,  and  yet  so  familiar  from  the 
fresh  childish  voice.  Latin  seems  from  her  lips  no  more  a 
dead  language.  It  is  as  if  she  had  learned  it  naturally  in 
infancy  from  listening  to  the  songs  of  the  angels  who 
watched  her  in  her  sleep,  or  from  the  lips  of  a sainted 
mother  bending  over  her  pillow  from  heaven. 

One  thing,  however,  seems  to  disappoint  little  Eva.  She 
has  a sentence  taken  from  a book  her  father  left  her  before 
he  died,  but  which  she  was  never  allowed  to  see  afterward. 


*“  Jesus,  Sovereign  Lord  of  heaven,  sweetest  Friend  to  me, 

King  of  all  the  universe,  all  was  made  by  thee; 

Who  can  know  or  comprehend  the  wonders  thou  hast  wrought, 
Since  the  saving  of  the  lost  thee  so  low  hath  brought? 

“ Thee  the  love  of  souls  drew  down  from  beyond  the  sky — 

Drew  thee  from  thy  glorious  home,  thy  palace  bright  and  high! 
To  this  narrow  vale  of  tears  thou  thy  footsteps  bendest; 

Hard  the  work  thou  tak’st  on  thee,  rough  the  way  thou  wendestT 


68 


THE  SCHONBEBG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


She  is  always  hoping  to  find  the  book  in  which  this  sen- 
tence was,  and  has  not  yet  succeeded. 

I have  little  doubt  myself  that  the  book  was  some  heret- 
ical volume  belonging  to  her  father,  who  was  executed  for 
being  a Hussite.  It  is  to  be  hoped,  therefore,  she  will 
never  find  it.  She  did  not  tell  me  this  herself,  probably 
because  Else,  to  whom  she  mentioned  it,  discouraged  her  in 
such  a search.  We  all  feel  it  is  a great  blessing  to  have 
rescued  that  innocent  heart  from  the  snares  of  those  per- 
nicious heretics,  against  whom  our  Saxon  nation  made  such 
a noble  struggle.  There  are  not  very  many  of  the  Hussites 
left  now  in  Bohemia.  As  a national  party  they  are  indeed 
destroyed,  since  the  Calixtines  separated  from  them. 
There  are,  however,  still  a few  dragging  out  a miserable 
existence  among  the  forests  and  mountains;  and  it  is  re- 
ported that  these  opinions  have  not  yet  even  been  quite 
crushed  in  the  cities,  in  spite  of  the  vigorous  measures  used 
against  them,  but  that  not  a few  secretly  cling  to  their 
tenets,  although  outwaidly  conforming  to  the  church.  So 
inveterate  is  the  poison  of  heresy,  and  so  great  the  danger 
from  which  little  Eva  has  been  rescued. 

Erfurt,  May  2,  1507. 

To-day  once  more  the  seclusion  and  silence  which  have 
enveloped  Martin  Luther  since  he  entered  the  cloister 
have  been  broken.  This  day  he  has  been  consecrated 
priest,  and  has  celebrated  his  first  mass.  There  was  a 
great  feast  at  the  Augustinian  convent;  offerings  poured 
in  abundance  into  the  convent  treasury,  and  Martin’s 
father,  John  Luther,  came  from  Mansfeld  to  be  present  at 
the  ceremony.  He  is  reconciled  at  last  to  his  son  (whom 
for  a long  time  he  refused  to  see),  although  not,  I believe, 
to  his  monastic  profession.  It  is  certainly  no  willing  sacri- 
fice on  the  father’s  part.  And  no  wonder.  After  toiling 
for  years  to  place  his  favorite  son  in  a position  where  his 
great  abilities  might  have  scope,  it  must  have  been  hard  to 
see  everything  thrown  away  just  as  success  was  attained, 
for  what  seemed  to  him  a willful,  superstitious  fancy.  And 
without  a word  of  dutiful  consultation  to  prepare  him  for 
the  blow ! 

Having,  however,  at  last  made  up  his  mind  to  forgive  his 
son,  he  forgave  him  like  a father,  and  came  in  pomp  with 
precious  gifts  to  do  him  honor.  He  rode  to  the  convent 


THE  SGE ONBER G-GO TTA  FAMILY. 


69 


gate  with  an  escort  of  twenty  horsemen,  and  gave  his  son  a 
present  of  twenty  florins. 

Brother  Martin  was  so  cheered  by  the  reconciliation, 
that  at  the  ordination  feast  he  ventured  to  try  to  obtain 
from  his  father  not  only  pardon,  but  sanction  and  approval. 
It  was  of  the  deepest  interest  to  me  to  hear  his  familiar, 
eloquent  voice  again,  pleading  for  his  father’s  approval. 
But  he  failed.  In  vain  he  stated  in  his  own  fervent  words 
the  motives  that  had  led  to  his  vow;  in  vain  did  the  monks 
around  support  and  applaud  all  he  said.  The  old  man  was 
not  to  be  moved. 

“Dear  father,”  said  Martin,  “what  was  the  reason  of  thy 
objecting  to  my  choice  to  become  a monk?  Why  wert 
thou  then  so  displeased,  and  perhaps  art  not  reconciled  yet? 
It  is  such  a peaceful  and  godly  life  to  live.” 

I cannot  say  that  Brother  Martin’s  worn  and  furrowed 
face  spoke  much  for  the  peacefulness  of  his  life;  but  Mas- 
ter John  Luther  boldly  replied  in  a voice  that  all  at  the 
table  might  hear: 

“ Didst  thou  never  hear  that  a son  must  be  obedient  to 
his  parents?  And,  you  learned  men,  did  you  never  read 
the  Scriptures,  ‘Thou  shal  honor  thy  father  and  thy 
mother?’  God  grant  that  those  signs  you  speak  of  may  not 
prove  to  be  lying  wonders  of  Satan.” 

Brother  Martin  attempted  no  defense.  A look  of  sharp 
pain  came  over  his  face,  as  if  an  arrow  had  pierced  his 
heart;  but  he  remained  quite  silent. 

Yet  he  is  a priest;  he  is  endued  with  a power  never  com- 
mitted even  to  the  holy  angels — to  transubstantiate  bread 
into  God — to  sacrifice  for  the  living  and  the  dead. 

He  is  admitted  into  the  inner  circle  of  the  court  of 
heaven. 

He  is  on  board  that  sacred  ark  which  once  he  saw  por- 
trayed at  Magdeburg,  where  priests  and  monks  sail  safely 
amid  a drowning  world.  And  what  is  more,  he  himself 
may,  from  his  safe  and  sacred  vessel,  stoop  down  and  rescue 
perishing  men;  perhaps  confer  unspeakable  blessings  on 
the  soul  of  that  very  father  whose  words  so  wounded  him. 

For  such  ends  well  may  he  bear  that  the  arrow  should 
pierce  his  heart.  Did  not  a sword  pierce  thine,  oh  mourn- 
ful mother  of  consolations? 

And  he  is  certain  of  his  vocation.  He  does  not  think  as 
we  in  the  world  so  often  must,  “ Is  God  leading  me,  or  the 


70 


THE  SCHONBEHG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


devil?  Am  I resisting  bis  higher  calling  in  only  obeying 
the  humbler  call  of  everyday  duty?  Am  I bringing  down 
blessings  on  those  I love,  or  curses?” 

Bcpther  Martin,  without  question,  has  none  of  these  dis- 
tracting doubts-.  He  may  well  bear  any  other  anguish 
which  may  meet  him  in  the  ways  of  God,  and  because  he 
has  chosen  them.  At  least  he  has  not  to  listen  to  such 
tales  as  I have  heard  lately  from  a young  knight,  Ulrich 
Won  Hutten,  who  is  studying  here  at  present,  and  has  things 
to  relate  of  the  monks,  priests,  and  bishops  in  Rome  itself 
which  tempt  one  to  think  all  invisible  things  a delusion, 
and  all  religion"  a pretense. 


PART  V. 
else’s  chronicle. 

Eisenach,  January,  1510. 

We  have  passed  through  a terrible  time;  if,  indeed,  we 
are  through  it  l 

The  plague  has  been  at  Eisenach;  and,  alas!  is  here  still. 

Fritz  came  home  to  us  as  usual  at  Christmas.  Just  be- 
fore he  left  Erfurt  the  plague  had  broken  out  in  the  uni- 
versity* But  he  did  not  know  it.  When  first  he  came  to 
us  he  seemed  quite  well,  and  was  full  of  spirits,  but  on  the 
second  day  he  complained  of  cold  and  shivering,  with  pain 
in  the  head,  which  increased  toward  the  evening.  His 
eyes  then  began  to  have  a fixed,  dim  look,  and  he  seemed 
unable  to  speak  or  think  long  connectedly. 

I noticed  that  the  mother  watched  him  anxiously  that 
evening,  and  at  its  close,  feeling  his  hands  feverish,  she 
said  very  quietly  that  she  should  sit  up  ki  his  room  that 
night.  At  first  he  made  some  resistance,  but  he  seemed 
too  faint  to  insist  on  anything;  and,  as  he  rose  to  go  to 
bed,  he  tottered  a little,  and  said  he  felt  giddy,  so  that  my 
mother  drew  his  arm  within  hers  and  supported  him  to  his 
room. 

Still  I did  not  feel  anxious;  but  when  Eva  and  I reached 
our  room,  she  said,  in  that  quiet,  convincing  manner  which 
she  had  even  as  a child,  fixing  her  large  eyes  on  mine: 

“Cousin  Else,  Fritz  is  very  ill.” 


TEE  SCI10NB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


n 


“ I think  not,  Eva,”  I said;  “and  no  one  would  feel 
anxious  about  him  as  soon  as  I should.  He  caught  a chill 
on  his  way  from  Erfurt.  You  know  it  was  late  when  he 
arrived,  and  snowing  fast,  and  he  was  so  pleased  to  see  us, 
and  so  eager  in  conversation  that  he  would  not  change  his. 
things.  It  is  only  a slight  feverish  cold.  Besides,  our 
mothers  manner  was  so  calm  when  she  wished  us  good 
night.  I do  not  think  she  is  anxious.  She  is  only  sitting 
up  with  him  for  an  hour  or  two  to  see  that  he  sleeps.” 

“Cousin  Else,”  replied  Eva,  “did  you  not  see  the 
mother’s  lip  quiver  when  she  turned  to  wish  us  good 
night?” 

“No,  Eva,”  said  I;  “I  was  looking  at  Eritz.” 

And  so  we  went  to  bed.  But  I thought  it  strange  that 
Eva,  a girl  of  sixteen,  should  be  more  anxious  than  I was, 
and  I his  sister.  Hope  is  generally  so  strong,  and  fear  so 
weak,  before  one  has  seen  many  fears  realized,  an^J  many 
hopes  disappointed.  Eva,  however,  had  always  a way  of 
seeing  into  the  truth  of  things.  I was  very  tired  with  the 
day’s  work  (for  I always  rise  eaiiier  than  usual  when  Eritz 
is  here,  to  get  everything  done  before  he  is  about),  and  I 
must  very  soon  have  fallen  asleep.  It  was  not  midnight 
when  I was  roused  by  the  mother’s  touch  upon  my  arm. 

The  light  o£  the  lamp  she  held^howed  me  a paleness  in 
her  face  and  an  alarm  in  her  eyes  which  awoke  me  thor- 
oughly in  an  instant. 

“Else,”  she  said,  “go  into  the  boys’  room  and  send 
Christopher  for  a physician.  I cannot  leave  Fritz.  But 
do  not  alarm  your  father,”  she*  added,  as  she  crept  again 
out  of  the  room  after  lighting  our  lamp. 

I called  Christopher,  and  in  five  minutes  he  was  dressed 
and  out  of  the  house.  When  I returned  to  our  room  Eva 
was  sitting  dressed  on  the  bed.  She  had  not  been  asleep, 
I saw.  I think  she  had  been  praying,  for  she  held  the 
crucifix  in  her  clasped  hands,  and  there  were  traces  of  tears 
on  her  cheek,  although,  when  she  raised  her  eyes  to  me, 
they  were  clear  and  tearless. 

“What  is  it,  Cousin  Else?”  she  said.  “When  I went  for 
a moment  to  the  door  of  his  room  he  was  talking.  It  was. 
his  voice,  but  with  such  a strange,  wild  torje  in  it.  I think 
he  heard  my  step,  although  I thought  no  one  would,  I 
stepped  so  softly,  for  he  called  ‘Eva,  Eva!’  but  the  mother 
came  to  the  door  and  silently  motioned  me  away.  But  you 


n 


THE  SCHENB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


may  go,  Else,”  she  added,  with  a passionate  rapidity  very 
unusual  with  her.  “Go  and  see  him.” 

I went  instantly.  He  was  talking  very  rapidly  and  vehe- 
mently, and  in  an  incoherent  way  it  was  difficult  to  under- 
stand. My  mother  sat  quite  still,  holding  his  hand.  His 
eyes  were  not  bright  as  in  fever,  but  dim  and  fi^ed.  Yet 
he  was  in  a raging  fever.  His  hand,  when  I touched  it, 
burned  like  fire,  and  his  face  was  flushed  like  crimson.  I 
stood  there  quite  silently  beside  my  mother  until  the  phy- 
sician came.  At  first  Fritz’s  eyes  followed  me;  then  tfhey 
seemed  watching  the  door  for  some  one  else;  hut  in  a few 
minutes  the  dull  vacancy  came  over  them  again,  and  he 
seemed  conscious  of  nothing. 

At  last  the  physician  came.  He  paused  a moment  at 
the  door,  and  held  a bag  of  myrrh  before  him ; then  ad- 
vancing to  the  bed,  he  drew  aside  the  clothes  and  looked  at 
Fritz’s  arm. 

“ Too  plain !”  he  exclaimed,  starting  back  as  he  perceived 
a black  swelling  there.  “It  is  the  plague!” 

My  mother  followed  him  to  the  door. 

“Excuse  me,  madam,”  he  said,  “life  is  precious,  and  I 
might  carry  the  infection  into  the  city.” 

“ Can  nothing  be  done?”  she  said. 

“Not  much,”  he  said  bluntly;  and  then,  after  a mo- 
ment’s hesitation,  touched  by  the  distress  in  her  face,  he 
returned  to  the  bedside.  “I  have  touched  him,”  he  mur- 
mured, as  if  apologizing  to  himself  for  incurring  the  risk; 
“the  mischief  is  done,  doubtless,  already.”  And  taking  out 
his  lancet,  he  bled  my  brother’s  arm. 

Then,  after  binding  up  the  arm,  he  turned  to  me  and 
said,  “Get  cypress  and  juniper  wood,  and  burn  them  in  a 
brasier  in  this  room,  with  rosin  and  myrrh.  Keep  your 
brother  as  warm  as  possible — do  not  let  in  a breath  of  air;” 
and  he  added,  as  I followed  him  to  the  door,  “on  no  ac- 
count suffer  him  to  sleep  for  a moment,  and  let  no  one 
come  near  him  but  you  and  your  mother.” 

When  I returned  to  the  bedside,  after  obeying  these 
directions,  Fritz’s  mind  was  wandering;  and  although  we 
could  understand  little  that  he  said,  he  was  evidently  in 
great  distress.  He  seemed  to  have  comprehended  the 
physician’s  words,  for  he  frequently  repeated,  “ The  plague! 
the  plague!  I have  brought  a curse  upon  my  house!”  and 
then  he  would  wander,  strangely  calling  upon  Martin 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


73 


Luther  and  Eva  to  intercede  and  obtain  pardon  for  him,  as 
if  he  was  invoking  saints  in  heaven;  and  occasionally  he 
would  repeat  fragments  of  Latin  hymns. 

It  was  dreadful  to  have  to  keep  him  awake;  to  have  to 
rouse  him,  whenever  he  showed  the  least  symptom  of  slum- 
ber, to  thoughts  which  so  perplexed  and  troubled  his  poor 
brain.  But  on  the  second  night  the  mother  fainted  away, 
and  I had  to  carry  her  to  her  room.  Her  dear  thin  frame 
was  no  heavy  weight  to  bear.  I laid  her  on  the  bed  in  our 
room,  which  was  the  nearest.  Eva  appeared  at  the  door  as 
I stood  beside  our  mother.  Her  face  was  as  pale  as  death. 
Before  I could  prevent  it,  she  came  up  to  me,  and  taking 
my  hands  said  : 

“Cousin  Else,  only  promise  me  one  thing;  if  he  is  to  die, 
let  me  see  him  once  more.” 

, “I  dare  not  promise  anything,  Eva,”  I said;  “consider 
the  infection !” 

“What  will  the  infection  matter  to  me  if  he  dies?”  she 
said;  “I  am  not  afraid  to  die.” 

“Think  of  the  father  and  the  children,  Eva,”  I said;  “if 
our  mother  and  I should  be  seized  next,  what  would  they 
do?” 

“Chriemhild  will  soon  be  old  enough  to  take  care  of 
them,”  she  said  very  calmly  “promise  me,  promise  me, 
Else,  or  I will  see  him  at  once.” 

And  I promised  her,  and  she  threw  her  arms  around  me, 
and  kissed  me.  Then  I went  back  to  Fritz,  leaving  Eva 
chafing  my  mother’s  hands.  It  was  of  no  avail,  I thought, 
to  try  to  keep  her  from  contagion,  now  that  she  had  held 
my  hands  in  hers. 

When  I came  again  to  Fritz’s  bedside,  he  was  asleep! 
Bitterly  I reproached  myself;  but  what  could  I have  done? 
He  was  asleep — sleeping  quietly,  with  soft,  even  breath- 
ing. I had  not  courage  to  awake  him ; but  I knelt  down 
and  implored  the  blessed  Virgin  and  all  the  saints  to  have 
mercy  on  me,  and  spare  him.  And  they  must  have  heard 
me;  for  in  spite  of  my  failure  in  keeping  the  physician’s 
orders,  Fritz  began  to  recover  from  that  very  sleep. 

Our  grandmother  says  it  was  a miracle;  “unless,”  she 
added,  “the  doctor  was  wrong.” 

He  awoke  from  the  sleep  refreshed  and  calm,  but  weak 
as  an  infant. 

It  was  delightful  to  meet  his  eyes  when  first  he  awoke, 


74 


THE  SCEOJSTB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


with  the  look  of  quiet  recognition  in  them,  instead  of  that 
wild,  fixed  stare,  or  that  restless  wandering,  to  look  once 
more  into  his  heart  through  his  eyes.  He  looked  at  me  a 
long  time  with  a quiet  content,  without  speaking,  and  then 
he  said,  holding  out  his  hand  to  me: 

“Else,  you  have  been  watching  long  here.  You  look 
tired;  go  and  rest.” 

“It  rests  me  best  to  look  at  you,”  I said,  “and  see  you 
better.” 

He  seemed  too  weak  to  persist,  and  after  taking  some 
food  and  cooling  drinks,  he  fell  asleep  again,  and  so  did  I; 
for  the  next  thing  I was  conscious  of  was  our  mother  gently 
placing  a pillow  underneath  my  head,  which  had  sunk  on 
the  bed  where  I had  been  kneeling,  watching  Fritz.  I was 
ashamed  of  being  such  a bad  nurse;  but  our  mother  insisted 
on  my  going  to  our  room  to  seek  rest  and  refreshment. 
And  for  the  next  few  days  we  took  it  in  turns  to  sit  beside 
him,  until  he  began  to  gain  strength.  Then  we  thought 
he  might  like  to  see  Eva;  but  when  she  came  to  the  door, 
he  eagerly  motioned  her  away,  and  said : 

“Do  not  let  her  venture  near  me.  Think  if  I were  to 
bring  this  judgment  of  God  on  her!” 

Eva  turned  away,  and  was  out  of  sight  in  an  instant;  but 
the  troubled,  perplexed  expression  came  back  into  my 
brother’s  eyes,  and  the  feverish  flush  into  his  face,  and  it 
was  long  before  he  seemed  calm  again. 

I followed  Eva.  She  was  sitting  with  clasped  hands  in 
our  room. 

“Oh,  Else,”  she  said,  “how  altered  he  is!  Are  you  sure 
he  will  live  even  now?” 

I tried  to  comfort  her  with  the  hope  which  was  naturally 
so  much  stronger  in  me,  because  I had  seen  him  in  the 
depths  from  which  he  was  now  slowly  rising  again  to  life. 
But  something  in  that  glimpse  of  him  seeffted  to  weigh  on 
her  very  life;  and  as  Fritz  recovered,  Eva  seemed  to  grow 
paler  and  weaker,  until  the  same  feverish  symptoms  came 
over  her  which  w'e  had  learned  so  to  dread,  and  then  the 
terrible  tokens,  the  plague-spots,  which  could  not  be 
doubted,  appeared  on  the  fair,  soft  arms,  and  Eva  was  lying 
with  those  dim,  fixed,  pestilence-veiled  eye's,  and  the  wan- 
dering brain. 

For  a day  we  were  able  to  conceal  it  from  Fritz,  but  no 
jkngar. 


THE  SCHON  BERG-COTTA  FAMILY.  ?5 

On  the  second  evening  after  Eva  was  stricken,  I found 
him  standing  by  the  window  of  his  room,  looking  into  the 
street.  I shall  never  forget  the  expression  of  horror  in  his 
eyes  as  he  turned  from  the  window  to  me. 

“Else,”  he  said,  “how  long  have  those  fires  been  burning 
in  the  streets?” 

“ For  a week,”  I said.  “They  are  fires  of  cypress-wood 
and  juniper,  with  myrrh  and  pine  gums.  The  physicians 
say  they  purify  the  air.” 

“I  know  too  well  what  they  are,”  he  said.  “And,  Else,” 
he  said,  “why  is  Master  Biirer’s  house  opposite  closed?” 

“He  has  lost  two  children,”  I said. 

“And  why  are  those  other  windows  closed  all  down  the 
street?”  he  rejoined. 

“The  people  have  left,  brother,”  I said;  “but  the  doc- 
tors hope  the  worst  is  over  now.” 

“Oh  just  God!”  he  exclaimed,  sinking  on  a chair  and 
covering  his  face;  “I  was  flying  from  thee,  and  I have 
brought  the  curse  on  my  people!” 

Then,  after  a minute’s  pause,  before  I could  think  of 
any  words  to  comfort  him  he  looked  up,  and  suddenly 
demanded : 

“Who  are  dead  in  this  house,  Else?” 

“None,  none,”  I said. 

“ Who  are  stricken?”  he  asked. 

“All  the  children  and  the  father  are  well,”  I said,  “and 
the  mother.” 

“ Then  Eva  is  stricken,”  he  exclaimed,  “the  innocent  for 
the  guilty!  She  will  die  and  be  a saint  in  heaven,  and  I, 
who  have  murdered  her,  shall  live,  and  shall  see  her  no 
more,  forever  and  forever.” 

I could  not  comfort  him.  The  strength  of  his  agony 
utterly  stunned  me.  I could  only  burst  into  tears,  so  that 
he  had  to  try  to  comfort  me.  But  he  did  not  speak;  he 
only  took  my  hands  in  his  kindly,  as  of  old,  without  saying 
another  word.  At  length  I said : 

“It  is  not  you  who  brought  the  plague,  dear  Fritz;  it  is 
God  who  sent  it.” 

“I  know  it  is  God,”  he  replied,  with  such  an  intense 
bitterness  in  his  tone  that  I did  not  attempt  another 
sentence. 

That  night  Eva  wandered  much  as  I watched  beside  her; 
but  her  delirium  was  quite  different  from  that  of  Fritz, 


76 


THE  SCIlONBEUG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Her  spirit  seemed  floating  away  on  a quiet  stream  into  some 
happy  land  we  could  not  see.  She  spoke  of  a palace,  of  a 
home,  of  fields  of  fragrant  lilies,  of  white-robed  saints  walk- 
ing among  them  with  harps  and  songs,  and  of  one  walking 
there,  who  welcomed  her.  Occasionally,  too,  she  mur- 
mured snatches  of  the  same  Latin  hymns  that  Fritz  had 
repeated  in  his  delirium,  but  in  a tone  so  different,  so 
childlike  and  happy!  If  ever  she  appeared  troubled,  it  was 
when  she  seemed  to  miss  some  one,  and  be  searching  here 
and  there  for  them;  but  then  she  often  ended  with,  “ Yes, 
I know  they  will  come;  I must  wait  till  they  come.”  And 
so  at  last  she  fell  asleep,  as  if  the  thought  had  quieted  her. 

I could  not  hinder  her  sleeping,  whatever  the  physician 
said — she  looked  so  placid,  and  had  such  a happy  smile  on 
her  lips.  Only  once,  when  she  had  lain  thus  an  hour  quite 
still,  while  her  chest  seemed  scarcely  to  heave  with  her  soft, 
tranquil  breathing,  I grew  alarmed  lest  she  should  glide 
thus  from  us  into  the  arms  of  the  holy  angels;  and  I whis- 
pered softly,  “Eva,  dear  Eva!” 

Her  lips  parted  slightly,  and  she  murmured: 

“Not  yet;  wait  till  they  come.” 

And  then  she  turned  her  head  again  on  the  pillow,  and 
slept  on.  She  awoke  quite  collected  and  calm,  and  then 
she  said  quietly,  “Where  is  the  mother?” 

“She  is  resting,  darling  Eva.” 

She  gave  a little  contented  smile,  and  then,  in  broken 
words  at  intervals,  she  said : 

“Now,  I should  like  to  see  Fritz.  You  promised  I 
should  see  him  again ; and  now,  if  I die,  I think  he  would 
like  to  see  me  once  more.”  . 

I went  to  fetch  my  brother.  He  was  pacing  up  and 
down  his  room,  with  the  crucifix  clasped  to  his  breast.  At 
first,  to  my  surprise,  he  seemed  very  reluctant  to  come;  but 
when  I said  how  much  she  wished  it,  he  followed  me  quite 
meekly  into  her  room.  Eva  was  resuming  her  old  com- 
mand over  us  all.  She  held  out  her  hand,  with  a look  of 
such  peace  and  rest  on  her  face. 

“ Cousin  Fritz,”  she  said  at  intervals,  as  she  had  strength, 
“you  have  taught  me  so  many  things — you  have  done  so 
much  for  me.  Now  I wish  you  to  learn  my  sentence,  that 
if  I go,  it  may  make  you  happy,  as  it  does  me.”  Then 
very  slowly  and  distinctly  she  repeated  the  words:  “‘God 

so  loved  the  world  that  He  gave  His  only  Son  A Cousin 


THE  SCHOMB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


77 


Fritz,”  she  added,  “ I do  not  know  the  end  of  the  sentence. 
I have  not  been  able  to  find  it,  but  you  must  find  it.  I am 
sure  it  comes  from  a good  book,  it  makes  me  love  God  so 
much  to  think  of  it.  Promise  me  you  will  find  it  if  I 
should  die.” 

He  promised,  and  she  was  quite  satisfied.  Her  strength 
seemed  exhausted,  and  in  a few  moments,  with  my  arms 
round  her  as  I sat  beside  her,  and  with  her  hand  in  Fritz’s, 
she  fell  into  a deep,  quiet  sleep. 

I felt  from  that  time  she  would  not  die,  and  I whispered 
very  softly  to  Fritz: 

“She  will  not  die;  she  will  recover,  and  you  will  not 
have  killed  her;  you  will  have  saved  her.” 

But  when  I looked  into  his  face,  expecting  to  meet  a 
thankful,  happy  response,  I was  appalled  by  the  expression 
there. 

He  stood  immovable,  not  venturing  to  withdraw  his 
hand,  but  with  a rigid,  hopeless  look  in  his  worn,  pale  face, 
which  contrasted  terribly  with  the  smile  of  deep  repose  on 
the  sleeping  face  on  which  his  eyes  were  fixed. 

And  so  he  remained  until  she  awoke,  when  his  whole 
countenance  changed  for  an  instant  to  return  her  smile. 

Then  he  said  softly, “ God  bless  you,  Eva!”  and  pressing 
her  hand  to  his  lips,  he  left  the  room. 

When  I saw  him  again  that  day,  I said : 

“Fritz,  you  saved  Eva’s  life.  She  rallied  from  the  time 
she  saw  you.” 

“Yes,”  he  replied  very  gently,  but  with  a strange  impas- 
siveness in  his  face;  “I  think  that  may  be  true.  I have 
saved  her.” 

But  he  did  not  go  into  her  room  again;  and  the  next 
day,  to  our  surprise  and  disappointment,  he  said  suddenly 
that  he  must  leave  us. 

He  said  few  words  of  farewell  to  any  of  us,  and  would 
not  see  Eva  to  take  leave  of  her.  He  said  it  might  disturb 
her. 

But  when  he  kissed  me  before  he  went,  his  hands  and 
lips  were  as  cold  as  death.  Yet  as  I watched  him  go  down 
the  street,  he  did  not  once  turn  to  wave  a last  good-bye,  as 
he  always  used  to  do;  but  slowly  and  steadily  he  went  on 
till  he  was  out  of  sight. 

I turned  back  into  the  house  with  a very  heavy  heart; 
but  when  I went  to  tell  Eva  Fritz  was  gone,  and  tried  to 


78 


THE  SCIIONBER G-CO TTA  FAMILY. 


account  for  his  not  coming  to  take  leave  of  her,  because  1 
thought  it  would  give  her  pain  (and  it  does  seem  to  me 
rather  strange  of  Fritz),  she  looked  up  with  her  quiet, 
trustful,  contented  smile  and  said: 

“ I am  not  at  all  pained,  Cousin  Else.  I know  Fritz  had 
good  reasons  for  it — some  good,  kind  reasons — because  he 
always  has;  and  we  shall  see  him  again  as  soon  as  he  can 
come.” 


PA RT  VI. 

FRIEDRICH’S  STORY. 

St.  Sebastian,  Erfurt,  January  20,  1510. 

The  irrevocable  step  is  taken.  I have  entered  the 
Augustinian  cloister.  I write  in  Martin  Luther’s  cell. 
Truly  I have  forsaken  father  and  mother,  and  all  that  was 
dearest  to  me,  to  take  refuge  at  the  foot  of  the  cross.  I 
have  sacrificed  everything  on  earth  to  my  vocation,  and  yet 
the  conflict  is  not  over.  I seem  scarcely  move  certain  of 
my  vocation  now  than  while  I remained  in  the  world. 
Doubts  buzz  around  me  like  wasps,  and  sting  me  on  every 
side.  The  devil  transforming  himself  into  an  angel  of 
light  perplexes  me  with  the  very  words  of  Scripture.  The 
words  of  Martin  Luther’s  father  recur  to  me,  as  if  spoken 
by  a divine  voice.  “Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother,” 
echoes  back  to  me  from  the  chants  of  the  choir,  and  seems 
written  everywhere  on  the  white  walls  of  my  cell. 

And,  besides  the  thunder  of  these  words  of  God,  tender 
voices  seem  to  call  me  back  by  every  plea  of  duty,  not  to 
abandon  them  to  fight  the  battle  of  life  alone.  Else  calls 
me  from  the  old  lumber-room,  “Fritz!  brother!  who  is  to 
tell  me  now  what  to  do?”  My  mother  does  not  call  me 
back,  but  I seem  ever  to  see  her  tearful  eyes,  full  of  re- 
proach and  wonder  which  she  tries  to  repress,  lifted  up  to 
heaven  for  strength;  and  her  worn,  pale  face  growing  more 
wan  every  day.  In  one  voice  and  one  face  only  I seem 
never  to  hear  or  see  reproach  or  recall;  and  yet,  heaven 
forgive  me,  those  pure  and  saintly  eyes  which  seem  only  to 
say,  “Go  on,  Cousin  Fritz,  God  will  help  thee,  and  I will 
pray,”  those  sweet,  trustful,  heavenly  eyes  draw  me  back  to 
the  world  with  more  power  than  anything  else. 


THE  SCHONB. ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


79 


Is  it  then  too  late?  Have  I lingered  in  the  world  so  long 
that  my  heart  can  never  more  be  torn  from  it?  Is  this  the 
punishment  of  my  guilty  hesitation,  that,  though  I have 
given  my  body  to  the  cloister,  God  will  not  have  my  soul, 
which  evermore  must  hover  like  a lost  spirit  about  the 
scenes  it  was  too  reluctant  to  leave?  Shall  I evermore, 
when  I lift  my  eyes  to  heaven,  see  all  that* is  pure  and 
saintly  there  embodied  for  me  in  a face  which  it  is  deadly 
sin  for  me  to  remember? 

Yet  I have  saved  her  life.  If  I brought  the  curse  on  my 
people  by  my  sin,  was  not  my  obedience  accepted?  From 
the  hour  when,  in  my  room  alone,  after  hearing  that  Eva 
was  stricken,  I prostrated  myself  before  God,  and  not  dar- 
ing to  take  his  insulted  name  on  my  lips,  approached  him 
through  his  martyred  saint,  and  said,  “ Holy  Sebastian,  by 
the  arrows  which  pierced  thy  heart,  ward  off  the  arrows  of 
pestilence  from  my  home,  and  I will  become  a monk,  and 
change  my  own  guilty  name  for  thine,”  from  that  moment 
did  not  Eva  begin  to  recover,  and  from  that  time  were  not 
all  my  kindred  unscathed?  “ Cadent  a latere  tuo  mille , et 
decern  millia  a dextris  tuis:  ad  te  autem  non  appropin- 
quabit .”  Were  not  these  words  literally  fulfilled;  and  while 
many  still  fell  around  us,  was  one  afterward  stricken  in 
my  home? 

Holy  Sebastian,  infallible  protector  against  pestilence  by 
thy  firmness  when  accused,  confirm  my  wavering  will;  by 
thy  double  death,  save  me  from  the  second  death;  by  the 
arrows  which  could  not  slay  thee,  thou  hast  saved  us  from 
the  arrow  that  flieth  by  day;  by  the  cruel  blows  which  sent 
thy  spirit  from  the  circus  to  paradise,  strengthen  me 
against  the  blows  of  Satan;  by  thy  body  rescued  from 
ignominious  sepulture  and  laid  in  the  catacombs  among  the 
martyrs,  raise  me  from  the  filth  of  sin;  by  thy  generous 
pleading  for  thy  fellow-sufferers  amidst  thine  own  agonies, 
help  me  to  plead  for  those  who  suffer  with  me;  and  by  all 
thy  sorrows,  and  merits,  and  joys,  plead — oh,  plead  for 
me,  who  henceforth  bears  thy  name. 

St.  Scholastic  a,  February  10. 

I have  been  a month  in  the  monastery.  Yesterday  my 
first  probation  was  over,  and  I was  invested  with  the  white 
garments  of  the  novitiate. 

The  whole  of  the  brotherhood  were  assembled  in  the 


80 


THE  BCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


church,  when,  as  kneeling  before  the  prior,  he  asked  me 
solemnly  whether  I thought  my  strength  sufficient  for  the 
burden  I purposed  to  take  on  myself. 

In  a low,  grave  voice  he  reminded  me  what  those  burdens 
are,  the  rough,  plain  clothing,  the  abstemious  living,  the 
broken  rest  and  long  vigils,  the  toils  in  the  service  of  the 
order,  the  reproach  and  poverty,  the  humiliations  of  the 
mendicant,  and,  above  all,  the  renunciation  of  self-will  and 
individual  glory,  to  be  a member  of  the  order,  bound  to  do 
whatever  the  superiors  command,  and  to  go  whithersoever 
they  direct. 

“With  God  for  my  help,”  I could  venture  to  say,  “of. 
this  will  I make  trial.” 

Then  the  prior  replied : 

“We  receive  thee,  therefore,  on  probation  for  one  year; 
and  may  God,  who  has  begun  a good  work  in  thee,  carry  it 
on  unto  perfection.” 

The  whole  brotherhood  responded  in  a deep  amen,  and 
then  all  the  voices  joined  in  the  hymn: 

“ Magna  Pater  Augustine,  preces  nostras  suscipe, 

Et  per  eas  conditori  nos  placare  satage, 

Atque  rege  gregem  tuum,  summum  decus  prsesulum. 

Amatorem  paupertatis,  te  collaudant  pau peres; 

Assertorem  veretatis  am  ant  veri  judices; 

Frangis  nc*bis  favos  mellis  de  Scripturis  disserens. 

Quae  obscura  prius  erant  nobis  plana  faciens, 

Tu  de  verbis  Salvatoris  dulcem  panem  conficis, 

Et  propinas  potum  vitae  de  psalmorum  neetare. 

Tu  de  vita  clericorum  sanctam  scribis  regulam, 

Quam  qui  amant  et  sequuntur  viam  tenent  regiam, 

Atque  tuo  sancto  ductu  redeunt  ad  patriam. 

Regi  regum  salus,  vita,  decus  et  imperium; 

Trinitati  laus  et  honor  sit  per  omne  saeculum, 

Qui  concives  nos  ascribat  supernorum  civium.”  * 


* “ Great  Father  Augustine,  receive  our  prayers, 

And  through  them  effectually  reconcile  the  Creator: 
And  rule  thy  flock,  the  highest  glory  of  rulers. 

The  poor  praise  thee,  lover  of  poverty; 

True  judges  love  thee,  defender  of  truth; 

Breaking  the  honeycomb  of  the  honey  of  Scripture 
thou  distributest  it  to  us. 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


81 


As  the  sacred  words  were  chanted  they  mingled  strangely 
in  my  mind  with  the  ceremonies  of  the  investiture.  My 
hair  was  shorn  with  the  clerical  tonsure,  my  secular  dress 
was  laid  aside;  the  garments  of  the  novice  were  thrown  on, 
girded  with  the  girdle  of  rope,  while  the  prior  murmured 
softly  to  me,  that  with  the  new  robes  I must  put  on  the 
new  man. 

Then,  as  the  last  notes  of  the  hymn  died  away,  I knelt 
and  bowed  low  to  receive  the  prior’s  blessing,  invoked  in 
these  words: 

“May  God,  who  hath  converted  this  young  man  from 
the  world,  and  given  him  a mansion  in  heaven,  grant  that 
his  daily  walk  maybe  as  becometli  his  calling;  and  that  he 
may  have  cause  to  be  thankful  for  what  has  this  day  been 
done.” 

Yersicles  were  then  chanted  responsively  by  the  monks, 
who  forming  in  procession  moved  toward  the  choir  where 
we  all  prostrated  ourselves  in  silent  prayer. 

After  this  they  conducted  me  to  the  great  hall  of  the 
cloister,  where  all  the  brotherhood  bestowed  on  me  the  kiss 
of  peace. 

Once  more  I knelt  before  the  prior,  who  reminded  me 
that  he  who  persevereth  to  the  end  shall  be  saved;  and 
gave  me  over  to  the  direction  of  the  preceptor,  whom  the 
new  Vicar-General  Staupitz  has  ordered  to  be  appointed  to 
each  novice. 

Thus  the  first  great  ceremony  of  my  monastic  life  is  over, 
and  it  has  left  me  with  a feeling  of  blank  and  disappoint- 
ment. It  has  made  no  change  that  I can  feel  in  my  heart. 
It  has  not  removed  the  world  further  off  from  me.  It  has 


Making  smooth  to  us  what  before  was  obscure, 

Thou,  from  the  words  of  the  Saviour,  furnishest 
us  with  wholesome  bread, 

And  givest  to  drink  draughts  of  life  from  the  nectar 
of  the  psalms. 

Thou  writest  the  holy  rule  for  the  life  of  priests, 

Which,  whosoever  love  and  follow,  keep  the  royal  road, 
And  by  Thy  holy  leading  return  to  their  fatherland. 

Salvation  to  the  King  of  kings,  life,  glory  and  dominion; 
Honor  and  praise  be  to  the  Trinity  throughout  all  ages, 
To  Him  who  declareth  us  to  be  fellow-citizens  of  the 
citizens  of  heaven,” 


82 


THE  SGIIONBEli 0- CO TTA  FAMILY. 


only  raised  another  impassable  barrier  between  me  and  all 
that  was  dearest  to  me — impassable  as  an  ocean  without 
ships,  infrangible  as  the  strongest  iron,  I am  determined 
my  ivill  shall  make  it;  but  to  my  heart , alas!  thin  as  gos- 
samer, since  every  faintest,  wistful  tone  of  love,  which 
echoes  from  the  past,  can  penetrate  it  and  pierce  me  with 
sorrow. 

My  preceptor  is  very  strict  in  enforcing  the  rules  of  the 
order.  Trespasses  against  the  rules  are  divided  into  four 
classes — small,  great,  greater,  and  greatest,  to  each  of 
which  is  assigned  a different  degree  of  penance.  Among 
the  smaller  are  failing  to  go  to  church  as  soon  as  the  sign 
is  given,  forgetting  to  touch  the  ground  instantly  with  the 
hand  and  to  smite  the  breast  if  in  reading  in  the  choir  or  in 
singing  the  least  error  is  committed;  looking  about  during 
the  service;  omitting  prostration  at  the  Annunciation  or  at 
Christmas;  neglecting  the  benediction  in  ‘coming  in  or 
going  out;  failing  to  return  books  or  garments  to  their 
proper  places;  dropping  food;  spilling  drink;  forgetting 
to  say  grace  before  eating.  Among  the  great  trespasses 
are:  contending,  breaking  the  prescribed  silence  at  fasts, 
and  looking  at  women,  or  speaking  to  them,  except  in  brief 
replies. 

The  minute  rules  are  countless.  It  is  difficult  at  first  to 
learn  the  various  genuflections,  inclinations,  and  prostra- 
tions. The  novices  are  never  allowed  to  converse  except  in 
presence  of  the  prior,  are  forbidden  to  take  any  notice  of 
visitors,  are  enjoined  to  walk  with  downcast  eyes,  to  read 
the  Scriptures  diligently,  to  bow  low  in  receiving  every 
gift,  and  say,  “The  Lord  be  praised  in  his  gifts.” 

How  Brother  Martin,  with  his  free,  bold,  daring  nature, 
bore  those  minute  restrictions,  I know  not.  To  me  there 
is  a kind  of  dull,  deadening  relief  in  them,  they  distract 
my  thoughts,  or  prevent  my  thinking. 

Yet  it  must  be  true,  my  obedience  will  aid  my  kindred 
more  than  all  my  toil  could  ever  have  done  while  disobedi- 
ently remaining  in  the  world.  It  is  not  a selfish  seeking  of 
my  own  salvation  and  ease  which  has  brought  me  here, 
whatever  some  may  think  and  say,  as  they  did  of  Martin 
Luther.  I think  of  that  ship  in  the  picture  at  Magdeburg 
he  so  often  told  me  of.  Am  I not  in  it — actually  in  it 
now ? and  shall  I not  hereafter,  when  my  strength  is  re- 
covered from  the  fatigue  of  reaching  it,  hope  to  lean  over 


THE  SGIIONBER G-CO TTA  FAMILY. 


83 

and  stretch  out  my  arms  to  them  still  struggling  in  the 
waves  of  this  hitter  world,  and  save  them? 

Save  them;  yes,  save  their  souls!  Did  not  my  vow  save 
precious  lives?  And  shall  not  my  fastings,  vigils,  disci- 
plines, prayers  be  as  effectual  for  their  souls?  And  then, 
hereafter,  in  heaven,  where  those  dwell  Avho,  in  virgin 
purity,  have  followed  the  Lamb,  shall  I not  lean  over  the 
jasper-battlements  and  help  them  from  purgatory  up  the 
steep  sides  of  paradise,  and  be  first  at  the  gate  to  welcome 
them  in?  And  then,  in  paradise,  where  love  will  no  longer 
be  in  danger  of  becoming  sin,  may  we  not  be  together  for- 
ever and  forever?  And  then  shall  I regret  that  I abandoned 
the  brief  polluted  joys  of  earth  for  the  pure  joys  of  eternity? 
Shall  I lament  then  that  I chose,  according  to  my  vocation, 
to  suffer  apart  from  them  that  their  souls  might  be  saved, 
rather  than  to  toil  with  them  for  the  perishing  body? 

Then!  then!  I,  a saint  in  the  city  of  God!  I,  a hesi- 
tating, sinful  novice  in  the  Augustinian  monastery  at 
Erfurt,  who,  after  resisting  for  years,  have  at  last  yielded 
up  my  body  to  the  cloister,  but  have  no  more  power  than 
ever  to  yield  up  my  heart  to  God ! 

. Yet  I am  in  the  sacred  vessel;  the  rest  will  surely  follow. 
Do  all  monks  have  such  a conflict?  No  doubt  the  devil 
fights  hard  for  every  fresh  victim  he  loses.  It  is,  it  mast 
be,  the  devil  who  beckons  me  through  those  dear  faces, 
who  calls  me  through  those  familiar  voices;  for  they  would 
never  call  me  back.  They  would  hide  their  pain,  and  say, 
“Go  to  God  if  he  calls  thee;  leave  us  and  go  to  God.” 
Else,  my  mother,  all  would  say  that,  if  their  hearts  broke 
in  trying  to  say  it. 

Had  Martin  Luther  such  thoughts  in  this  very  cell?  If 
they  are  from  the  Evil  One,  I think  he  had,  for  his  assaults 
are  strongest  against  the  noblest;  and  yet  I scarcely  think 
he  can  have  had  such  weak  doubts  as  those  which  haunt 
me.  He  was  not  one  of  those  who  draw  back  to  perdition; 
nor  even  of  those  who,  having  put  their  hand  to  the  plow, 
look  back,  as  I,  alas!  am  so  continually  doing.  And  what 
does  the  Scripture  say  of  such?  “ they  are  not  fit  for  the 
kingdom  of  God.”  No  exception,  no  reserve — monk, 
priest,  saint;  if  a man  look  back,  he  is  not  fit  for  the  king- 
dom of  God.  Then  what  becomes  of  my  hopes  of  paradise, 
or  acquiring  merits  which  may  aid  others?  Turn  back , 
draw  back,  I will  never , although  all  the  devils  were  to 


84 


THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


drive  me,  or  all  the  world  entice  me;  but  look  back,  who 
can  help  that?  If  a look  can  kill,  what  can  save?  Morti- 
fication, crucifixion,  not  for  a day,  but  daily;  I must  die 
daily;  I must  be  dead — dead  to  the  world.  This  cell  must 
to  me  he  as  a tomb,  where  all  that  was  most  loving  in  my 
heart  must  die  and  be  buried.  Was  it  so  to  Martin 
Luther?  Is  the  cloister  that  to  those  bands  of  rosy,  com- 
fortable monks,  who  drink  beer  from  great  cans,  and  feast 
on  the  best  of  the  land,  and  fast  on  the  choicest  fish?  The 
tempter,  the  tempter  again.  Judge  not,  and  ye  shall  not 
be  judged. 

St.  EuTalia,  Erfurt,  February  12,  1510. 

To-day  one  of  the  older  monks  came  to  me,  seeing  me, 
I suppose,  look  downcast  and  sad,  and  said,  “Fear  not, 
Brother  Sebastian,  the  strife  is  often  hard  at  first;  but  re- 
member the  words  of  St.  Jerome:  ‘Though  thy  father 
should  lie  before  thy  door  weeping  and  lamenting,  though 
thy  mother  should  show  thee  the  body  that  bore  thee,  and 
the  breast  that  nursed  thee,  see  that  thou  trample  them 
under  foot,  and  go  on  straightway  to  Christ.”5 

I bowed  my  head,  according  to  rule,  in  acknowledgment 
of  his  exhortation,  and  I suppose  he  thought  his  words 
comforted  and  strengthened  me;  but  heaven  knows  the 
conflict  they  awakened  in  my  heart  when  I sat  alone  to- 
night in  my  cell.  “Cruel,  bitter,  wicked  words!”  my 
earthly  heart  would  say;  my  sinful  heart,  that  vigils, 
scourging,  scarcely  death  itself,  I fear,  can  kill.  Surely, 
at  least,  the  holy  father  Jerome  spoke  of  heathen  fathers 
and  mothers.  My  mother  would  not  show  her  anguish  to 
win  me  back;  she  would  say,  “My  son,  my  first-born,  God 
bless  thee;  I give  thee  freely  up  to  God.”  Does  she  not 
say  so  in  this  letter  which  I have  in  her  handwriting— 
which  I have  and  dare  not  look  at,  bceause  of  the  storm  of 
memory  it  brings  rushing  on  my  heart? 

Is  there  a word  of  reproach  or  remonstrance  in  her  let- 
ter? If  there  were,  I would  read  it;  it  would  strengthen 
me.  The  saints  had  that  to  bear.  It  is  because  those 
holy,  tender  words  echo  in  my  heart,  from  a voice  weak 
with  feeble  health,  that  day  by  day,  and  hour  by  hour,  my 
heart  goes  back  to  the  home  at  Eisenach,  and  sees  them 
toiling  unaided  in  the  daily  struggle  for  bread,  to  which  I 
have  abandoned  them,  unsheltered  and  alone. 


THE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 


85 


Then  at  times  the  thought  comes,  am  I,  after  all,  a 
dreamer,  as  I have  sometimes  ventured  to  think  my  father 
— neglecting  my  plain  daily  task  for  some  Atlantis?  and  if 
my  Atlantis  is  paradise  instead  of  beyond  the  ocean,  does 
that  make  so  much  difference? 

If  Brother  Martin  were  only  here,  he  might  understand 
and  help  me;  but  he  has  now  been  nearly  two  years  at 
W ittenberg,  where  he  is,  they  say,  to  lecture  on  theology 
at  the  elector’s  new  university,  and  to  be  preacher.  The 
monks  seem  nearly  as  proud  of  him  as  the  university  of 
Erfurt  was. 

Yet  perhaps,  after  all,  he  might  not  understand  my  per- 
plexities. His  nature  was  so  firm  and  straightforward  and 
strong.  He  would  probably  have  little  sympathy  with 
wavering  hearts  and  troubled  consciences  like  mine. 

SS.  Perpetua  and  Felicitas,  March  7, 
Erfurt,  Augustinian  Cloister. 

To-day  I have  been  out  on  my  first  quest  for  alms.  It 
seemed  very  strange  at  first  to  be  begging  at  familiar  doors, 
with  the  frock  and  the  convent  sack  on  my  shoulders;  but 
although  I tottered  a little  at  times  under  the  weight  as  it 
grew  heavy  (for  the  plague  and  fasting  have  left  me  weak), 
I returned  to  the  cloister  feeling  better  and  easier  in  mind, 
and  more  hopeful  as  to  my  vocation,  than  I had  done 
for  some  days.  Perhaps,  however,  the  fresh  air  had 
something  to  do  with  it;  and,  after  all,  it  was  only  a 
little  bodily  exultation.  But  certainly  such  bodily  loads 
and  outward  mortifications  are  not  the  burdens  which 
weigh  the  spirit  down.  There  seemed  a luxury  in  the  half- 
scornful looks  of  some  of  my  former  fellow-students,  and 
in  the  contemptuous  tossing  to  me  of  scraps  of  meat  by 
some  grudging  hands;  just  as  a tight  pressure,  which  in 
itself  would  be  pain  were  we  at  ease,  is  relief  to  severe  pain. 

Perhaps,  also,  oh  holy  Perpetua  and  Felicitas,  whose  day 
it  is,  and  especially  thou,  oh  holy  Perpetua,  who,  after  en- 
couraging thy  sons  to  die  for  Christ,  wast  martyred  thyself, 
hast  pleaded  for  my  forsaken  mother  and  for  me,  and  sendest 
me  this  day  some  ray  of  hope. 

St.  Joseph,  March  19, 
Augustinian  Cloister,  Erfurt. 

St.  Joseph,  whom  I have  chosen  to  be  one  of  the 


86 


THE  SC HdNB  ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY. 


twenty-one  patrons  whom  I especially  honor,  hear  and  aid 
me  to-day.  Thou  whose  glory  it  was  to  have  no  glory,  but 
meekly  to  aid  others  to  win  their  higher  crowns,  give  me 
also  some  humble  place  on  high;  and  not  to  me  alone,  but 
to  those  whom  I have  left  still  struggling  in  the  stormy 
seas  of  this  perilous  world. 

Here,  in  the  sacred  calm  of  the  cloister,  surely  at  length 
the  heart  also  must  grow  calm  and  cease  to  beat,  except 
with  the  life  of  the  universal  church — the  feasts  in  the 
calendar  becoming  its  events.  But  when  will  that  be  to 
me? 

March  20. 

Has  Brother  Martin  attained  this  repose  yet?  An  aged 
monk  sat  with  me  in  my  cell  yesterday,  who  told  me  strange 
tidings  of  him,  which  have  given  me  some  kind  of  bitter 
comfort. 

It  seems  that  the  monastic  life  did  not  at  once  bring 
repose  into  his  heart. 

This  aged  monk  was  Brother  Martin’s  confessor,  and  he 
has  also  been  given  to  me  for  mine.  In  his  countenance 
there  is  such  a peace  as  I long  for — not  a still,  death -like 
peace,  as  if  he  had  fallen  into  it  after  the  conflict,  but  a 
living,  kindly  peace,  as  if  he  had  won  it  through  the  con- 
flict, and  enjoyed  it  even  while  the  conflict  lasted. 

It  does  not  seem  to  me  that  Brother  Martin’s  scruples 
and  doubts  were  exactly  like  mine.  Indeed,  my  confessor 
says  that  in  all  the  years  he  has  exercised  his  office  he  has 
never  found  two  troubled  hearts  troubled  exactly  alike. 

I do  not  know  that  Brother  Martin  doubted  his  vocation, 
or  looked  back  to  the  world;  but  he  seems  to  have  suffered 
agonies  of  inward  torture.  His  conscience  was  so  quick 
and  tender,  that  the  least  sin  wounded  him  as  if  it  had 
been  the  grossest  crime.  He  invoked  the  saints  most  de- 
voutly— choosing,  as  I have  done  from  his  example,  twenty- 
one  saints,  and  invoking  three  every  day,  so  as  to  honor 
each  every  week.  He  read  mass  every  day,  and  had  an 
especial  devotion  for  the  blessed  Virgin.  He  wasted  his 
body  with  fasting  and  watching.  He  never  intentionally 
violated  the  minutest  rule  of  the  order;  and  yet  the  more 
he  strove,  the  more  wretched  he  seemed  to  be.  Like  a 
musician  whose  ear  is  cultivated  to  the  highest  degree,  the 
slightest  discord  was  torture  to  him.  Can  it  then  be  God’s 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


8? 


intention  that  the  growth  of  our  spiritual  life  is  only  grow- 
ing sensitiveness  to  pain?  Is  this  true  growth?  or  is  it 
that  monstrous  development  of  one  faculty  at  the  expense 
of  others,  which  is  deformity  or  disease? 

The  confessor  said  thoughtfully,  when  I suggested  this: 

“The  world  is  out  of  tune,  my  son,  and  the  heart  is  out 
of  tune.  The  more  our  souls  vibrate  truly  to  the  music  of 
heaven,  the  more,  perhaps,  they  must  feel  the  discords  of 
earth.  At  least  it  was  so  with  Brother  Martin;  until  at 
last,  omitting  a prostration  or  genuflection,  would  weigh  on 
his*  conscience  like  a crime.  Once,  after  missing  him  for 
some  time,  we  went  to  the  door  of  his  cell,  and  knocked. 
It  was  barred,  and  all  our  knocking  drew  no  response.  We 
broke  open  the  door  at  last,  and  found  him  stretched  sense- 
less on  the  floor.  We  only  succeeded  in  reviving  him  by 
strains  of  sacred  music,  chanted  by  the  choristers  which  we 
brought  to  his  cell.  He  always  dearly  loved  music,  and 
believed  it  to  have  a strange  potency  against  the  wiles  of 
the  devil.” 

. “He  must  have  suffered  grievously,”  I said.  “I  suppose 
it  is  by  such  sufferings  merit  is  acquired  to  aid  others?” 

“He  did  suffer  agonies  of  mind,”  replied  the  old  monk. 
“ Often  he  would  walk  up  and  down  the  cold  corridors  for 
nights  together.” 

“Did  nothing  comfort  him?”  I asked. 

“ Yes,  my  son;  some  words  I once  said  to  him  comforted 
him  greatly.  Once,  when  I found  him  in  an  agony  of  de- 
spondency in  his  cell,  I said,  ‘Brother  Martin,  dost  thou 
believe  in  the  forgiveness  of  sins,  as  saith  the  creed?’  His 
face  lighted  up  at  once.” 

“The  forgiveness  of  sins!”  I repeated  slowly.  “Father, 
I also  believe  in  that.  But  forgiveness  only  follows  on  con- 
trition, confession  and  penance.  How  can  I ever  be  sure 
that  I have  been  sufficiently  contrite,  that  I have  made  an 
honest  and  complete  confession,  or  that  I have  performed 
my  penance  aright?” 

“Ah,  my  son,”  said  the  old  man,  “these  were  exactly 
Brother  Martin’s  perplexities,  and  I could  only  point  him 
to  the  crucified  Lord,  and  remind  him  again  of  the  for- 
giveness of  sins.  All  we  do  is  incomplete,  and  when  the 
blessed  Lord  says  he  forgivetli  sins,  I suppose  he  means  the 
sins  of  sinners , who  sin  in  their  confession  as  in  everything 
else.  My  son,  he  is  more  compassionate  than  you  think, 


88 


THE  UCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


perhaps  than  any  of  us  think.  At  least  this  is  my  comfort; 
and  if,  when  I stand  before  him  at  last,  I find  I have  made 
a mistake,  and  thought  him  more  compassionate  than  he  is, 
I trust  he  will  pardon  me.  It  can  scarcely,  I think,  grieve 
him  so  much  as  declaring  him  to  be  a hard  master  would.” 

I did  not  say  anything  more  to  the  old  man.  His  words 
so  evidently  were  strength  and  joy  to  him,  that  I could  not 
venture  to  question  them  further.  To  me,  also,  they  have 
given  a gleam  of  hope.  And  yet,  if  the  way  is  not  rough 
and  difficult,  and  if  it  is  not  a hard  thing  to  please 
Almighty  God,  why  all  those  severe  rules  and  renunci- 
ations— those  heavy  penances  for  trifling  offenses? 

Merciful  we  know  He  is.  The  emperor  may  be  merciful; 
but  if  a peasant  were  to  attempt  to  enter  the  imperial  pres- 
ence without  the  prescribed  forms,  would  he  not  be  driven 
from  the  palace  with  curses,  at  the  point  of  the  sword? 
And  what  are  those  rules  at  the  court  of  heaven? 

If  perfect  purity  of  heart  and  life,  who  can  lay  claim  to 
that? 

If  a minute  attention  to  the  rules  of  an  order  such  as  this 
of  St.  Augustine,  who  can  be  sure  of  having  never  failed  in 
this?  The  inattention  which  caused  the  neglect  would 
probably  let  it  glide  from  the  memory.  And  then,  what  is 
the  worth  of  confession? 

Christ  is  the  Saviour,  but  only  of  those  who  follow  him. 
There  is  forgiveness  of  sins,  but  only  for  those  who  make 
adequate  confession.  I,  alas!  have  not  followed  him  fully. 
What  priest  on  earth  can  assure  me  I have  ever  confessed 
fully? 

Therefore  I see  him  merciful,  gracious,  holy — a Saviour, 
but  seated  on  a high  throne,  where  I can  never  be  sure 
petitions  of  mine  will  reach  him;  and  alas!  one  day  to  be 
seated  on  a great  white  throne,  whence  it  is  too  sure  his 
summoning  voice  will  reach  me. 

Mary,  Mother  of  God,  Virgin  of  virgins,  mother  of 
divine  grace — holy  Sebastian  and  all  martyrs — great  father 
Augustine  and  all  holy  doctors,  intercede  for  me,  that  my 
penances  may  be  accepted  as  a satisfaction  for  my  sins,  and 
may  pacify  my  Judge. 

Annunciation  of  the  Holy  Virgin, 

March  25. 

My  preceptor  has  put  into  my  hands  the  Bible  bound 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY.  89 

in  red  morocco  which  Brother  Martin,  he  says,  used  to  read 
so  much.  I am  to  study  it  in  all  the  intervals  which  the 
study  of  the  fathers,  expeditions  for  begging,  the  services 
of  the  church,  and  the  menial  offices  in  the  house  which 
fall  to  the  share  of  novices,  allow.  These  are  not  many. 

I have  never  had  a Bible  in  my  hands  before,  and  the  hours 
pass  quickly  indeed  in  my  cell  which  I can  spend  in  read- 
ing it.  The  preceptor,  when  he  comes  to  call  me  for  the 
midnight  service,  often  finds  me  still  reading. 

It  is  very  different  from  what  I expected.  There  is 
nothing  oratorical  in  it,  there  are  no  labored  disquisitions, 
and  no  minute  rules,  at  least  in  the  New  Testament. 

I wish  sometimes  I had  lived  in  the  old  Jewish  tim$§, 
when  there  was  one  temple  wherein  to  worship,  certain 
definite  feasts  to  celebrate,  certain  definite  ceremonial  rules 
to  keep. 

If  I could  have  stood  in  the  temple  courts  on  that  great 
day  of  atonement,  and  seen  the  victim  slain,  and  watched 
till  the  high  priest  came  out  from  the  holy  place  with  his 
hands  lifted  up  in  benediction,  I should  have  known  abso- 
lutely that  God  was  satisfied,  and  returned  to  my  home  in 
peace.  Yes,  to  my  home.  There  were  no  monasteries, 
apparently,  in  those  Jewish  times.  Family  life  was  God’s 
appointment  then,  and  family  affections  had  his  most 
solemn  sanctions. 

In  the  New  Testament,  on  the  contrary,  I cannot  find 
any  of  those  definite  rules.  It  is  all  addressed  to  the 
heart;  and  who  can  make  the  heart  right?  I suppose  it  is 
the  conviction  of  this  which  has  made  the  church  since 
then  restore  many  minute  rules  and  discipline,  in  imitation 
of  the  Jewish  ceremonial;  for  in  the  Gospels  and  Epistles  I 
can  find  no  ritual,  ceremonial,  or  definite  external  rules  of 
any  kind.  ✓ 

What  advantage,  then,  has  the  New  Testament  over  the- 
Old?  Christ  has  come.  “God  so  loved  the  world,  that 
he  gave  his  only  begotten  Son.”  This  ought  surely  to  make 
a great  difference  beween  us  and  the  Jews.  But  how? 

St.  Gregory  of  Nyssa,  April  9. 

I have  found,  in  my  reading  to-day,  the  end  of  Eva’s 
sentence — “God  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his  only 
begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  believetli  in  him  should  not 
verish , but  have  everlasting  life.” 


90 


THE  SGHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


How  simple  the  words  are!  “Believeth;”  that'  would 
mean,  in  any  other  book,  “trusteth,”  “has  reliance”  in 
Christ;  simply  to  confide  in  him,  and  then  receive  his 
promise  not  to  perish. 

But  here — in  this  book,  in  theology — it  is  necessarily  im- 
possible that  believing  can  mean  anything  so  simple  as  that; 
because,  at  that  rate,  any  one  who  merely  came  to  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  in  confiding  trust  would  have  everlasting  life, 
without  any  further  conditions;  and  this  is  obviously  out 
of  the  question. 

For  what  can  be  more  simple  than  to  confide  in  one 
worthy  of  confidence?  and  what  can  be  greater  than  ever- 
lasting life? 

And  yet  we  know,  from  all  the  teaching  of  the  doctors 
and  fathers  of  the  church,  that  nothing  is  more  difficult 
than  obtaining  everlasting  life;  and  that,  for  this  reason, 
monastic  orders,  pilgrimages,  penances,  have  been  multi- 
plied from  century  to  century;  for  this  reason  saints  have 
forsaken  every  earthly  joy,  and  inflicted  on  themselves 
every  possible  torment;  all  to  obtain  everlasting  life,  which, 
if  this  word  “believeth”  meant  here  what  it  would  mean 
anywhere  but  in  theology,  would  be  offered  freely  to  every 
petitioner. 

Wherefore  it  is  clear  that  “believeth,”  in  the  Scriptures, 
means  something  entirely  different  from  what  it  does  in  any 
secular  book,  and  must  include  contrition,  confession,  pen- 
ance, satisfaction,  mortification  of  the  flesh,  and  all  else 
necessary  to  salvation. 

Shall  I venture  to  send  this  end  of  Eva’s  sentence  to  her? 

It  might  mislead  her.  Dare  I for  her  sake?  dare  I still 
more  for  my  own? 

One  hour  I have  sat  before  this  question;  and  whither 
has  my  heart  wandered?  What  confession  can  retrace  the 
flood  of  bitter  thoughts  which  have  rushed  over  me  in  this 
one  hour? 

I had  watched  her  grow  from  childhood  into  early 
womanhood;  and  until  these  last  months,  until  that  week 
of  anguish,  I had  thought  of  her  as  a creature  between  a 
child  and  an  angel.  I had  loved  her  as  a sister  who  had  yet 
a mystery  and  a charm  about  her  different  from  a sister. 
Only  when  it  seemed  that  death  might  separate  us  did  it 
burst  upon  me  that  there  was  something  in  my  affection 
for  her  which  made  her  not  one  among  others,  but  in  some 
strange,  sacred  sense  the  only  one  on  earth  to  me, 


THE  SCH ON  BERG-GO  TTA  FAMILY. 


91 


And  as  I recovered  came  the  hopes  I must  never  more 
recall/  which  made  all  life  like  the  woods  in  spring,  and  my 
heart  like  a full  river  set  free  from  its  ice-fetters,  and  rush- 
ing through  the  world  in  a tide  of  blessing. 

I thought  of  a home  which  might  be,  I thought  of  a 
sacrament  which  should  transubstantiate  all  life  into  a 
symbol  of  heaven,  a home  which  was  to  be  peaceful  and 
sacred  as  a church,  because  of  the  meek,  and  pure,  and 
heavenly  creature  who  should  minister  there. 

And  then  came  to  me  that  terrible  vision  of  a city  smitten 
by  the  pestilence,  whence  I had  brought  the  recollection  of 
the  impulse  I had  had  in  the  forest  at  midnight,  and  more 
than  once  since  then,  to  take  the  monastic  vows.  I felt  I 
was  like  Jonah  flying  from  God ; yet  still  I hesitated  until  she 
was  stricken.  And  then  I yielded.  I vowed  if  she  were 
saved  I would  become  a monk. 

Not  till  she  was  stricken,  whose  loss  would  have  made 
the  whole  world  a blank  to  me — not  till  the  sacrifice  was 
worthless — did  I make  it.  And  will  God  accept  such  a 
sacrifice  as  this? 

At  least  Brother  Martin  had  not  this  to  reproach  himself 
with.  He  did  not  delay  his  conversion  until  his  whole 
being  had  become  possessed  by  an  image  no  prayers  can 
erase;  nay,  which  prayer  and  holy  meditations,  or  heaven 
itself,  only  rivet  on  the  heart,  as  the  purest  reflection  of 
heaven  memory  can  recall. 

Brother  Martin,  at  least,  did  not  trifle  with  his  vocation 
until  too  late. 


PART  YII. 

else’s  story. 

January  23. 

It  is  too  plain  now  why  Fritz  would  not  look  back  as  he 
went  down  the  street.  He  thought  it  would  be  looking 
back  from  the  kingdom  of  God. 

The  kingdom  of  God,  then,  is  the  cloister,  and  the 
world,  we  are  that — lather,  mother,  brother,  sisters,  friends, 
home,  that  is  the  world.  I shall  never  understand  it.  For 
if  all  my  younger  brothers  say  is  true,  either  all  the  priests 


92 


TEE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


and  monks  are  not  in  the  kingdom  of  God,  or  the  kingdom 
of  God  is  strangely  governed  here  on  earth. 

Fritz  was  helping  us  all  so  much.  He  would  have  been  the 
stay  of  our  parents’  old  age.  He  was  the  example  and  ad- 
miration of  the  boys,  and  the  pride  and  delight  of  us  all; 
and  to  me!  My  heart  grows  so  bitter  when  I write  about 
it,  I seem  to  hate  and  reproach  every  one.  Every  one  but 
Fritz;  I cannot,  of  course,  hate  him.  But  why  was  all 
that'was  gentlest  and  noblest  in  him  made  to  work  toward 
this  last  dreadful  step? 

If  our  father  had  only  been  more  successful  Fritz  need 
not  have  entered  on  that  monastic  foundation  at  Erfurt, 
which  made  his  conscience  so  sensitive;  if  my  mother  had 
only  not  been  so  religious,  and  taught  us  to  reverence 
Aunt  Agnes  as  so  much  better  than  herself,  he  might  never 
have  thought  of  the  monastic  life;  if  I had  been  more  re- 
ligious he  might  have  confided  more  in  me,  and  I might 
have  induced  him  to  pause,  at  least  a few  years,  before  tak- 
ing this  unalterable  step.  If  Eva  had  not  been  so  willful, 
and  insisted  on  braving  the  contagion  from  me,  she  might 
never  have  been  stricken,  and  that  vow  might  not  yet, 
might  never  have  been  taken.  If  God  had  not  caused  him 
so  innocently  to  bring  the  pestilence  among  us!  But  I 
must  not  dare  to  say  another  word  of  complaint,  or  it  will 
become  blasphemy.  Doubtless  it  is  God  who  has  willed  to 
bring  all  this  misery  on  us,  and  to  rebel  against  God  is  a 
deadly  sin.  As  Aunt  Agnes  said,  “The  Lord  is  a jealous 
God,”  he  will  not  suffer  us  to  make  idols.  We  must  love 
him  best,  first,  alone.  We  must  make  a great  void  in  our 
heart,  by  renouncing  all  earthly  affections,  that  he  may  fill 
it.  We  must  mortify  the  flesh,  that  we  may  live.  What 
then  is  the  flesh?  I suppose  all  our  natural  affections, 
which  the  monks  call  our  fleshly  lusts.  These  Fritz  has 
renounced.  Then  if  all  our  natural  affections  are  to  die  in 
us,  what  is  to  live  in  us?  The  “spiritual  life,”  they  say  in 
some  of  the  sermons,  and  the  love  of  God.  But  are  not  my 
natural  affections  my  heart;  and  if  I am  not  to  love  God 
with  my  heart,  with  the  heart  with  which  I love  my  father 
and  mother,  what  am  I to  love  him  with? 

It  seems  to  me,  the  love  of  God  to  us  is  something  quite 
different  from  any  human  being’s  love  to  us. 

When  human  beings  love  us  they  like  to  have  us  with 
them;  they  delight  to  make  us  happy;  they  delight  in  our 
being  happy,  whether  they  make  us  so  or  not,  if  it  is  a 
right  happiness,  a happiness  that  does  us  good. 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


93 


But  with  God’s  love  it  must  be  quite  different.  He 
warns  us  not  on  any  account  to  come  too  near  him.  We 
have  to  place  priests,  and  saints,  and  penances  between  us 
and  him,  and  then  approach  him  with  the  greatest  caution, 
lest,  after  all,  it  should  be  in  the  wrong  way,  and  he  should 
be  angry.  And  instead  of  delighting  in  our  happiness,  he 
is  never  so  much  pleased  as  when  we  renounce  all  the  happi- 
ness of  our  life,  and  make  other  people  wretched  in  doing 
so,  as  Fritz,  our  own  Fritz,  has  just  done. 

Therefore,  also,  no  doubt,  the  love  God  requires  we 
should  feel  for  him  is  something  entirely  different  from  the 
love  we  give  each  other.  It  must,  I suppose,  be  a serious, 
severe,  calm  adoration,  too  sublime  to  give  either  joy  or 
sorrow,  such  as  has  left  its  stamp  on  Aunt  Agnes’  grave, 
impassive  face.  I can  never,  never  even  attempt  to  attain 
to  it.  Certainly  at  present  I have  no  time  to  think  of  it. 

Thank  heaven,  thou  lovest  still,  mother  of  mercy;  in  thy 
face  there  have  been  tears,  real,  bitter,  human  tears;  in 
thine  eyes  there  have  been  smiles  of  joy,  real,  simple, 
human  joy.  Thou  wilt  understand  and  have  pity.  Yet, 
oh,  couldst  not  thou,  even  thou,  sweet  mother,  have  re- 
minded him  of  the  mother  he  has  left  to  battle  on  alone? 
thou  who  art  a mother,  and  didst  bend  over  a cradle,  and 
hadst  a little  lowly  home  at  Nazareth  once? 

But  I know  my  own  mother  would  not  even  herself  have 
uttered  a word  to  keep  Fritz  back.  When  first  we  heard 
of  it,  and  I entreated  her  to  write  and  remonstrate, 
although  the  tears  were  streaming  from  her  eyes,  she  said, 
“Not  a word,  Else,  not  a syllable.  Shall  not  I give  him 
up  freely  to  Him  who  gave  him  to  me.  God  might  have 
called  him  away  from  earth  altogether  when  he  lay  smitten 
with  the  plague,  and  shall  I grudge  him  to  the  cloister?  I 
shall  see  him  again,”  she  added,  “once  or  twice  at  least. 
When  he  is  consecrated  priest,  shall  I not  have  joy  then, 
and  see  him  in  his  white  robes  at  the  altar,  and,  perhaps, 
even  receive  my  Creator  from  his  hands.” 

“Once  or  twice!  oh  mother!”  I sobbed,  and  in  church, 
among  hundreds  of  others.  “What  pleasure  will  there 
be  in  that?” 

“Else,”  she  said  softly,  but  with  a firmness  unusual  with 
her,  “my  child,  do  not  say  another  word.  Once  I myself 
had  some  faint  inclination  to  the  cloister,  which,  if  I had 
nourished  it,  might  have  grown  into  a vocation.  But  I saw 


THE  SCH0NBE2W-UUTT A FAMIL  Y. 

your  father,  and  I neglected  it.  And  see  what  troubles  my 
children  have  had  to  bear!  Has  there  not  also  been  a kind 
of  fatal  spell  on  all  your  father’s  inventions?  Perhaps  God 
will  at  last  accept  from  me  in  my  son  what  I withheld  in 
myself,  and  will  be  pacified  toward  us,  and  send  us  better 
days;  and  then  your  father’s  great  invention  will  be  com- 
pleted yet.  But  do  not  say  anything  of  what  I told  you 
to  him.” 

I have  never  seen  our  father  so  troubled  about  anything. 

“Just  as  he  was  able  to  understand  my  projects!”  he 
said,  “and  I would  have  bequeathed  them  all  to  him!” 

For  some  days  he  never  touched  a model ; but  now  he 
has  crept  back  to  his  old  folios  and  his  instruments,  and 
tells  us  there  was  something  in  Fritz’s  horoscope  which 
might  have  prepared  us  for  this,  had  he  only  understood  it 
a little  before.  However,  this  discovery,  although  too  late 
to  warn  us  of  the  blow,  consoles  our  father,  and  he  has  re- 
sumed his  usual  occupations. 

Eva  looks  very  pale  and  fragile,  partly,  no  doubt,  from 
the  effects  of  the  pestilence;  but  when  first  the  rumor 
reached  us,  1 sought  some  sympathy  from  her,  and  said, 
“Oh  Eva,  how  stiange  it  seems,  when  Fritz  always  thought 
of  us  before  himself,  to  abandon  us  all  thus  without  one 
word  of  warning.” 

“Cousin  Else,”  she  said,  “Fritz  has  done  now  as  he 
always  does.  He  has  thought  of  us  first,  I am  as  sure  of  it 
as  if  I could  hear  him  say  so.  He  thought  he  would  serve 
us  best  by  leaving  us  thus,  or  he  would  never  have  left  us.” 

She  understood  him  best  of  all,  as  she  so  often  does. 
When  his  letter  came  to  our  mother,  it  gave  just  the 
reasons  she  had  often  told  me  she  was  sure  had  moved  him. 

It  is  difficult  to  tell  what  Eva  feels,  because  of  that 
strange  inward  peace  in  her  which  seems  always  to  flow 
under  all  her  other  feelings. 

I have  not  seen  her  shed  any  tears  at  all ; and  while  I can 
scarcely  bear  to  enter  our  dear  old  lumber-room,  or  to  do 
anything  I did  with  him,  her  great  delight  seems  to  be  to 
read  every  book  he  liked,  and  to  learn  and  repeat  every 
hymn  she  learned  with  him. 

Eva  and  the  mother  cling  very  closely  together.  She 
will  scarcely  let  my  mother  do  any  household  work,  but  in- 
sists on  sharing  every  laborious  task  which  hitherto  we 
have  kept  her  from,  because  of  her  slight  and  delicate 
frame. 


THE  SCllONBEllG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


95 


It  is  true  I rise  early  to  save  them  all  the  work  I can, 
because  they  have  neither  of  them  half  the  strength  I have, 
and  I enjoy  stirring  about.  Thoughts  come  so  much  more 
bitterly  on  me  when  I am  sitting  still. 

But  when  I am  kneading  the  dough,  or  pounding  the 
clothes  with  stones  in  the  stream  on  washing-days,  I feel  as 
I were  pounding  at  all  my  perplexities,  and  that  makes  my 
hands  stronger  and  my  perplexities  more  shadowy,  until 
even  now  I find  myself  often  singing  as  I am  wringing  the 
clothes  by  the  stream.  It  is  so  pleasant  in  the  winter  sun- 
shine, with  the  brook  babbling  among  the  rushes  and 
cresses,  and  little  Thekla  prattling  by  my  side,  and  pre- 
tending to  help. 

But  when  I have  finished  my  day’s  work,  and  come  into 
the  house,  I find  the  mother  and  Eva  sitting  close  side  by 
side;  and  perhaps  Eva  is  silent,  and  my  mother  brushes 
tears  away  as  they  fall  on  her  knitting;  but  when  they  look 
up,  their  faces  are  calm  and  peaceful,  and  then  I know 
they  have  been  talking  about  Fritz. 

Eisenach,  February  2. 

Yesterday  afternoon  I found  Eva  translating  a Latin 
hymn  he  loved  to  our  mother,  and  then  she  sang  it  through 
in  her  sweet  clear  voice.  It  was  about  the  dear,  dear  coun- 
try in  heaven,  and  Jerusalem  the  Golden. 

In  the  evening  I said  to  her: 

“Oh  Eva,  how  can  you  bear  to  sing  the  hymns  Fritz 
loved  so  dearly,  and  I could  not  sing  a line  steadily  of  any 
song  he  had  cared  to  hear  me  sing?  And  he  delighted 
always  so  much*  to  listen  to  you.  His  voice  would  echo 
‘never,  never  more’  to  every  note  I sung,  and  thy  songs 
would  all  end  in  sobs.” 

“But  I do  not  feel  separated  from  Fritz,  Cousin  Else,” 
she  said,  “and  I never  shall.  Instead  of  hearing  that 
melancholy  chant  you  think  of,  "never,  never  more,’  echo 
from  all  the  hymns  he  loved,  I always  seem  to  hear  his 
voice  responding,  ‘Forever  and  for  evermore.’  And  I think 
of  the  time  when  we  shall  sing  them  together  again.” 

“Do  you  mean  in  heaven,  Eva,”  I said,  “that  is  so  very 
far  off,  and  if  we  ever  reach  it ” 

“Not  so  very  far  off,  Cousin  Else,”  she  said.  “I  often 
think  it  is  very  near.  If  it  were  not  so,  how  could  the 
angels  be  so  much  with  us  and  yet  with  God?” 


96 


THE  SCHONBEBG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


“But  life  seems  so  long,  now  Fritz  is  gone.” 

“Not  so  very  long,  Cousin  Else,”  she  said.  “I  often 
think  it  may  be  very  short,  and  often  I pray  it  may.” 
“Eva,”  I exclaimed,  “you  surely  don’t  pray  that  you 
may  die?” 

“Why  not?”  she  said,  very  quietly.  “I  think  if  God 
took  us  to  himself,  we  might  help  those  we  love  better 
there  than  at  Eisenach,  or  perhaps  even  in  the  convent. 
And  it  is  there  we  shall  meet  again,  and  there  are  never 
any  partings.  My  father  told  me  so,”  she  added,  “before 
he  died.” 

Then  I understood  how  Eva  mourns  for  Fritz,  and  why 
she  does  not  weep;  but  I could  only  say: 

“ Oh  Eva,  don’t  pray  to  die.  There  are  all  the  saints  in 
heaven:  and  you  help  us  so  much  more  here.” 


February  8. 

I cannot  feel  at  all  reconciled  to  losing  Fritz,  nor  do  I 
think  1 ever  shall.  Like  all  the  other  troubles,  it  was  no 
doubt  meant  to  do  me  good;  but  it  does  me  none,  I am 
sure,  although,  of  course,  that  is  my  fault.  What  did  me 
good  was  being  happy,  as  I was  when  Fritz  came  back;  and 
that  is  passed  forever. 

My  great  comfort  is  our  grandmother.  The  mother  and 
Eva  look  on  everything  from  such  sublime  heights;  but  my 
grandmother  feels  more  as  I do.  Often,  indeed,  she  speaks 
very  severely  of  Fritz,  which  always  does  me  good,  because, 
of  course,  I defend  him,  and  then  she  becomes  angry,  and 
says  we  are  an  incomprehensible  family,  and  have  the 
strangest  ideas  of  right  and  wrong,  from  my  father  down- 
ward, she  ever  heard  of;  and  then  I grow  angry,  and  say 
my  father  is  the  best  and  wisest  man  in  the  electoral  states. 
Then  our  grandmother  begins  to  lament  over  her  poor,  dear 
daughter,  and  the  life  she  has  led,  and  rejoices,  in  a plain- 
tive voice,  that  she  herself  has  nearly  done  with  the  world 
altogether;  and  then  I try  to  comfort  her,  and  say  that  I 
am  sure  there  is  ribt  much  in  the  world  to  make  any  one 
wish  to  stay  in  it;  and  having  reached  this  point  of  de- 
spondency, we  both  cry  and  embrace  each  other,  and  she 
says  I am  a poor,  good  child,  and  Fritz  was  always  the 
delight  of  her  heart,  which  I know  very  well;  and  thus  we 
comfort  each  other.  We  have,  moreover,  solemnly  resolved, 


THE  SCIWNB EBG-CO TTA  FAMILY . 97 

our  grandmother  and  I,  that,  whatever  comes  of  it,  we  will 
never  call  Fritz  anything  but  Fritz. 

“Brother  Sebastian,  indeed!”  she  said;  “your  mother 
^ might  as  well  take  a new  husband  as  your  brother  a new 
name!  Was  not  she  married,  and  was  not  he  christened  in 
church?  Is  not  Friedrich  a good,  honest  name,  which 
hundreds  of  your  ancestors  have  borne?  And  shall  we  call 
him  instead  a heathen,  foreign  name,  that  none  of  your 
kindred  were  ever  known  by?” 

“Not  heathen,  grandmother,”  I venture  to  suggest. 
“You  remember  telling  us  of  the  martyrdom  of  St.  Sebas- 
tian by  the  heathen  emperor?” 

“Do  you  contradict  me,  child?”  she  exclaimed.  “Did  I 
not  know  the  whole  martyrology  before  your  mother  was 
born?  I say  it  is  a heathen  name.  No  blame  to  the  saint 
if  his  parents  were  poor  benighted  pagans,  and  knew  no 
better  name  to  give  him:  but  that  our  Fritz  should  adopt 
it  instead  of  his  own  is  a disgrace.  My  lips  at  least  are  too 
old  to  learn  such  new-fashioned  nonsense.  I shall  call  him 
the  name  I called  him  at  the  font  and  in  his  cradle,  and  no 
other.” 

Yes,  Fritz;  Fritz  he  is  to  us,  and  shall  be  always.  Fritz 
in  our  hearts  till  death. 


February  15. 

We  have  just  heard  that  Fritz  has  finished  his  first 
month  of  probation,  and  has  been  invested  with  the  frock 
of  the  novice.  I hate  to  think  of  his  thick,  dark,  waving 
hair  clipped  in  the  circle  of  the  tonsure.  But  the  worst 
part  of  it  is  the  effect  of  his  becoming  a monk  has  had  on 
the  other  boys,  Christopher  and  Pollux. 

They,  who  before  this  thought  Fritz  the  model  of  every- 
thing good  and  great,  seem  repelled  from  all  religion  now. 
I have  difficulty  even  in  getting  them  to  church. 

Christopher  said  to  me  the  other  day : 

“Else,  why  is  a man  who  suddenly  deserts  his  family  to 
become  a soldier  called  a villain,  while  the  man  who  deserts 
those  who  depend  on  him  to  become  a monk  is  called  a 
saint?” 

It  is  very  unfortunate  the  boys  should  come  to  me  with 
their  religious  perplexities,  because  I am  so  perplexed  my- 
self, I have  no  idea  how  to  answer  them.  I generally 
advise  them  to  ask  Eva. 


98  THE  SCHONBEUG-COTTA  FAMIL  Y. 

This  time  I could  only  say,  as  our  grandmother  had  so 
often  said  to  me: 

J‘You  must  wait  till  you  are  older,  and  then  you  will 
understand.”  But  I added,  “Of  course  it  is  quite  differ- 
ent: one  leaves  his  home  for  God,  and  the  other  for  the 
world.” 

But  Christopher  is  the  worst,  and  he  continued: 

“Sister  Else,  I don’t  like  the  monks  at  all.  You  and 
Eva  and  our  mother  have  no  idea  how  wicked  many  of 
'them  are.  Reinhardt  says  he  has  seen  them  drunk  often, 
and  heard  them  swear,  and  that  some  of  them  made  a jest 
even  of  the  mass,  and  the  priests’  houses  are  not  fit  for  any 
honest  maiden  to  visit,  and ” 

“Reinhardt  is  a bad  hoy,”  I said,  coloring;  “and  I have 
often  told  you  I don’t  want  to  hear  anything  he  says.” 

“ But  I,  at  all  events,  shall  never  become  a monk  or  a 
priest,”  retorted  Christopher;  “I  think  the  merchants  are 
better.  Women-  cannot  understand  about  these  things,” 
he  added,  loftily,  “and  it  is  better  they  should  not;  but  I 
know;  and  I intend  to  be  a merchant  or  a soldier.” 

Christopher  and  Pollux  are  fifteen,  and  Fritz  is  two-and- 
twenty;  but  he  never  talked  in  that  lofty  way  to  me  about 
women  not  understanding! 

It  did  make  me  indignant  to  hear  Christopher,  who  is 
always  tearing  his  clothes,  and  getting  into  scrapes,  and 
perplexing^us  to  get  him  out  of  them,  comparing  himself 
with  Fritz,"- and  looking  down  on  his  sisters;  and  I said, 
“It  is  only  ioys  who  talk  scornfully  of  women.  Men,  true 
men,  honor  women.” 

“The  monks  do  not,”  retorted  Christopher.  “I  have 
heard  them  say  things  myself  worse  than  I have  ever  said 
about  any  woman.  Only  last  Sunday,  did  not  Father 
Boniface  say  half  the  mischief  in  the  world  had  been  done 
nearly  all  by  women,  from  Eve  to  Helen  and  Cleopatra?” 

“Do  not  mention  our  mother  Eve  with  those  heathens, 
Christopher, * said  our  grandmother,  coming  to  my  rescue, 
from  her  corner  by  the  stove.  “Eve  is  in  the  holy  Scrip- 
tures, and  many  of  these  pagans  are  not  fit  for  people  to 
speak  of.  Half  the  saints  are  women,  you  know  very  well. 
Peasants  and  traders,”  she  added  sublimely,  “may  talk 
slightingly  of  women;  but  no  man  can  be  a true  knight 
who  does.” 

“Tne  monks  do,”  muttered  Christopher,  doggedly. 


TEE  SCEONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


99 


“I  have  nothing  to  say  about  the  monks,”  rejoined  our 
grandmother  tartly.  And  accepting  this  imprudent  con- 
cession of  our  grandmother’s,  Christopher  retired  from  the 
contest. 

March  25. 

I have  just  been  looking  at  two  letters  addressed  to 
Father  Johann  Braun,  one  of  our  Eisenach  priests,  by 
Martin  Luther.  They  were  addressed  to  him  as  the  holy 
and  venerable  priest  of  Christ  and  of  Mary.  J3o  much  I 
could  understand,  and  also  that  he  calls  himself  Brother 
Martin  Luther,  not  Brother  Augustine,  a name  he  assumed 
on  first  entering  the  cloister.  Therefore  certainly  1 may 
call  our  Fritz,  Brother  Friedrich  Cotta. 

March  29,  1510. 

A young  man  was  at  Aunt  Ursula  Cotta’s  this  evening, 
who  told  us  strange  things  about  the  doings  at  Annaberg. 

Dr.  Tetzel  has  been  there  two  years,  selling  the  papal 
indulgences  to  the  people;  and  lately,  out  of  regard,  he 
says,  to  the  great  piety  of  the  German  people,  he  has  re- 
duced their  price. 

There  was  a great  deal  of  discussion  about  it,  which  I 
rather  regretted  the  boys  were  present  to  hear.  My  father 
said  indulgences  did  not  mean  forgiveness  of  sins,  but  only 
remission  of  certain  penances  which  the  church  had  im- 
posed. But  the  young  man  from  Annaberg  told  us  that 
Dr.  John  Tetzel  solemnly  assured  the  people,  that  since  it 
was  impossible  for  them,  on  account  of  their  sins,  to  make 
satisfaction  to  God  by  their  works,  our  holy  father  the 
pope,  who  has  the  control  of  all  the  treasury  of  merits  ac- 
cumulated by  the  church  throughout  the  ages,  now 
graciously  sells  those  merits  to  any  who  will  buy,  and 
thereby  bestows  on  them  forgiveness  of  sins  (even  of  sins- 
which  no  other  priest  can  absolve),  and  a certain  entrance 
into  eternal  life. 

The  young  man  said,  also,  that  the  great  red  cross  has 
been  erected  in  the  nave  of  the  principal  church,  with  the 
crown  of  thorns,  the  nails,  and  spear  suspended  from  it, 
and  that  at  times  it  has  been  granted  to  the  pope  even  so 
to  see  the  blood  of  the  crucified  flow  from  the  cross.  Be- 
neath this  cross  are  the  banners  of  the  church,  and  the 
papal  standard,  with  the  triple  crown.  Before  it  is  the 


100 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


large,  strong  iron  money  chest.  On  one  side  stands  the 
pulpit,  where  Dr.  Tetzel  preaches  daily,  and  exhorts 
the  people  to  purchase  this  inestimable  favor  while  yet 
there  is  time,  for  themselves  and  their  relations  in  purga- 
tory— and  translates  the  long  parchment  mandate  of  the 
lord  pope,  with  the  papal  seals  hanging  from  it.  On  the 
other  side  is  a table,  where  sit  several  priests,  with  pen, 
ink,  and  writing-desks,  selling  the  indulgence  tickets,  and 
counting  the  money  into  boxes.  Lately,  he  told  us,  not 
only  have  the  prices  been  reduced,  but  at  the  end  of  the 
letter  affixed  to  the  churches,  it  is  added,  “ Pauper ibus 
dentur  gratis .” 

“ Freely  to  the  poor!”  That  certainly  would  suit  us! 
And  if  I had  only  time  to  make  a pilgrimage  to  Annaberg, 
if  this  is  the  kind  of  religion  that  pleases  God,  it  certainly 
might  be  attainable  even  for  me. 

If  Fritz  had  only  known  it  before,  he  need  not  have 
made  that  miserable  vow.  A journey  to  Annaberg  would 
have  more  than  answered  the  purpose. 

Only,  if  the  pope  has  such  inestimable  treasures  at  his 
disposal,  why  could  he  not  always  give  them  freely  to  the 
poor,  always  and  everywhere? 

But  I know  it  is  a sin  to  question  what  the  lord  pope 
does.  I might  almost  as  well  question  what  the  Lord  God 
Almighty  does.  For  he  also,  who  gave  those  treasures  to 
the  pope,  is  he  not  everywhere,  and  could  he  not  give  them 
freely  to  us  direct?  It  is  plain  these  are  questions  too  high 
for  me. 

I am  not  the  only  one  perplexed  by  those  indulgences, 
however.  My  mother  says  it  is  not  the  way  she  was  taught 
and  she  had  rather  keep  to  the  old  paths.  Eva  said,  “If  I 
were  the  lord  pope,  and  had  such  a treasure,  I think  I 
could  not  help  instantly  leaving  my  palace  and  my  beauti- 
ful Rome,  and  going  over  the  mountains  and  over  the  seas, 
into  every  city  and  every  village;  every  hut  in  the  forests, 
and  every  room  in  the  lowest  streets,  that  none  might  miss 
the  blessing,  although  I had  to  walk  barefoot,  and  never 
saw  holy  Rome  again.” 

“But  then,”  said  our  father,  “the  great  church  at  St. 
Peter’s  would  never  be  built.  It  is  on  that,  you  know, 
the  indulgence  money  is  to  be  spent.” 

“But  Jerusalem  the  Golden  would  be  built,  Uncle 
Cotta,”  said  Eva;  “and  would  not  that  be  better?” 


THE  SCHONBEUG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


101 


“ We  had  better  not  talk  about  it,  Eva,”  said  the  mother. 
“The  holy  Jerusalem  is  being  built;  and  I suppose  there 
are  many  different  ways  to  the  same  end.  Only  I like  the 
way  I know  best.” 

The  boys,  I regret  to  say,  had  made  many  irreverent 
gestures  during  this  conversation  about  the  indulgences, 
and  afterward  I had  to  speak  to  them. 

“ Sister  Else,”  said  Christopher,  “it  is  quite  useless  talk- 
ing to  me.  I hate  the  monks,  and  all  belonging  to  them. 
And  I don’t  believe  a word  they  say — at  least,  not  because 
they  say  it.  The  boys  at  school  say  this  Dr.  Tetzel  is 
a very  bad  man,  and  a great  liar.  Last  week  Reinhardt 
told  us  something  he  did,  which  will  show  you  what  he  is. 
One  day  he  promised  to  show  the  people  a feather  which 
the  devil  plucked  out  of  the  wing  of  the  archangel  Michael. 
Reinhardt  says  he  supposes  the  devil  gave  it  Dr.  Tetzel. 
However  that  may  be,  during  the  night  some  students  in 
jest  found  their  way  to  his  relic-box,  stole  the  feather,  and 
replaced  it  by  some  coals.  The  next  day,  when  Dr. 
Tetzel  had  been  preaching  fervently  for  a long  time  on  the 
wonders  of  this  feather,  when  he  opened  the  box  there  was 
nothing  in  it  but  charcoal.  But  he  was  not  to  be  discon- 
certed. He  merely  said,  ‘I  have  taken  the  wrong  box  of 
relics,  I perceive;  these  are  some  most  sacred  cinders — the 
relics  of  the  holy  body  of  St.  Laurence,  who  was  roasted  on 
a gridiron.’  ” 

“Schoolboys’  stories,”  said  I. 

“They  are  as  good  as  monks’  stories,  at  all  events,”  re- 
joined Christopher. 

I resolved  to  see  if  Pollux  was  as  deeply  possessed  with 
this  irreverent  spirit  as  Christopher,  and  therefore  this 
morning,  when  I found  him  alone,  I said,  “Pollux,  you 
used  to  love  Fritz  so  dearly,  you  would  not  surely  take  up 
thoughts  which  would  pain  him  so  deeply  if  he  knew  of  it.” 

“I  do  love  Fritz,”  Pollux  replied,  “but  I can  never  think 
he  was  right  in  leaving  us  all;  and  I like  the  religion  of 
the  creeds  and  the  ten  commandments  better  than  that  of 
the  monks.” 

Daily,  hourly  I feel  the  loss  of  Fritz.  It  is  not  half  as 
much  the  money  he  earned;  although,  of  course,  that 
helped  us — we  can  and  do  struggle  on  without  that.  It  is 
the  influence  he  had  over  the  boys.  They  felt  he  was  be- 
fore them  in  the  same  race;  and  when  he  remonstrated 


102 


THE  SO IIO N BERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


with  them  about  anything,  they  listened.  But  if  I blame 
them,  they  think  it  is  only  a woman’s  ignorance,  or  a 
woman’s  superstition— and  boys  cannot  be  like  women. 
And  now  it  is  the  same  with  Fritz.  He  is  removed  into 
another  sphere,  which  is  not  theirs;  and  if  I remind  them 
of  what  he  did  or  said,  they  say,  “ Yes,  Fritz  thought  so; 
but  you  know  he  has  become  a monk;  but  we  do  not  in- 
tend ever  to  be  monks,  and  the  religion  of  monks  and  lay- 
men are  different  things.” 

April  2. 

The  sprihg-  is  come  again.  I wonder  if  it  sends  the 
thrill  of  joy  into  Fritz’s  cell  at  Erfurt  that  it  does  into  all 
the  forests  around  us  here,  and  into  my  heart! 

I suppose  there  are  trees  near  him,  and  birds — little, 
happy  birds — making  their  nests  among  them,  as  they  do 
in  our  yard,  and  singing  as  they  work. 

But  the  birds  are  not  monks.  Their  nests  are  little 
homes,  and  they  wander  freely  whither  they  will,  only 
brought  back  by  love.  Perhaps  Fritz  does  not  like  to  lis- 
ten to  the  birds  now,  because  they  remind  him  of  home  and 
our  long  spring  days  in  the  forest.  Perhaps,  too,  they  are 
part  of  the  world  he  has  renounced,  and  he  must  be  dead 
to  the  world. 

April  3. 

We  have  had  a long  day  in  the  forest,  gathering  sticks 
and  dry  twigs.  Every  creature  seemed  so  happy  there!  It 
was  such  a holiday  to  watch  the  ants  roofing  their  nests 
with  fir  twigs,  and  the  birds  flying  hither  and  thither  with 
food  for  their  nestlings;  and  to  hear  the  wood-pigeons, 
which  Fritz  always  said  were  like  Eva,  cooing  softly  in  the 
depths  of  the  forest. 

At  midday  we  sat  down  in  a clearing  of  the  forest,  to 
enjoy  the  meal  we  had  brought  with  us.  A little,  quiet 
brook  prattled  near  us,  of  which  we  drank,  and  the  delicate 
young  twigs  on  the  topmost  boughs  of  the  dark,  majestic 
pines  trembled  softly,  as  if  for  joy,  in  the  breeze. 

As  we  rested,  we  told  each  other  stories — Pollux,  wild 
tales  of  demon  hunts,  which  flew,  with  the  baying  of 
demon  dogs,  through  these  very  forests  at  midnight. 
Then,  as  the  children  began  to  look  fearfully  around,  and 
shiver,  even  at  midday,  while  they  listened,  Christopher 


THE  SGH ONE  ERG-GO  TTA  FAMILY. 


103 


delighted  them  with  quaint  stories  of  wolves  in  sheep’s 
clothing  politely  offering  themselves  to  the  farmer  as  shep- 
herds, which,  I suspect,  were  from  “Reinecke  Fuchs,”  or 
some  such  dangerous  book,  but,  without  the  application, 
were  very  amusing. 

Chriemhild  and  Atlantis  had  their  stories  of  Kobolds,'who 
played  strange  tricks  in  the  cow-stalls;  and  of  Rubezahl 
and  the  misshapen  dwarf  gnomes,  who  guarded  the  treas- 
ures of  gold  and  silver  in  the  glittering  caves  under  the 
mountains;  and  of  the  elves,  who  danced  beside  the 
brooks  at  twilight. 

“And  I,”  said  loving  little  Thekla,  “always  w^nt  to  see 
poor  Nix,  the  water-sprite,  who  cries  by  the  streams  at 
moonlight,  and  lets  his  tears  mix  with  the  waters,  because 
he  has  no  soul,  and  he  wants  to  live  forever.  I should  like 
to  give  him  half  mine.” 

We  should  all  of  us  have  been  afraid  to  speak  of  these 
creatures,  in  their  own  haunts  among  the  pines,  if  the  sun 
had  not  been  high  in  the  heavens.  Even  as  it  was,  I began 
to  feel  a little  uneasy,  and  I wished  to  turn  the  conversa- 
tion from  these  elves  and  sprites,  who,  many  think,  are  the 
spirits  of  the  old  heathen  gods,  who  linger  about  their 
haunts.  One  reason  why  people  think  so  is,  that  they  dare 
not  venture  within  the  sound  of  the  church  bells;  which 
makes  some,  again,  think  they  are  worse  than  poor, 
shadowy,  dethroned  heathen  gods,  and  had,  indeed,  better 
be  never  mentioned  at  all.  I thought  I could  not  do  bet- 
ter than  tell  the  legend  of  my  beloved  giant  Offerua,  who 
became  Christopher  and  a saint  by  carrying  the  holy  child 
across  the  river. 

Thekla  wondered  if  her  favorite  Nix  could  be  saved  in 
the  same  way.  She  longed  to  see  him  and  tell  him  about 
it. 

But  Eva  had  still  her  story  to  tell,  and  she  related  to  us 
her  legend  of  St.  Catherine. 

“St.  Catherine,”  she  said,  “was  a lady  of  royal  birth, 
the  only  child  of  the  king  and  queen  of  Egypt.  Her  par- 
ents were  heathens,  but  they  died  and  left  her  an  orphan 
when  she  was  only  fourteen.  She  was  more  beautiful  than 
any  of  the  ladies  of  her  court,  and  richer  than  any  princess 
in  the  world,  but  she  did  not  care  for  pomp,  or  dress,  or 
all  her  precious  things.  God’s  golden  stars  seemed  to  her 
more  magnificent  than  all  the  splendor  of  her  kingdom, 


104 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


and  she  shut  herself  up  in  her  palace,  and  studied  philoso- 
•phy  and  the  stars  until  she  grew  wiser  than  all  the  wise 
men  of  the  East. 

“But  one  day  the  diet  of  Egypt  met,  and  resolved  that 
their  young  queen  must  be  persuaded  to  marry.  They  sent 
a deputation  to  her  in  her  palace,  who  asked  her,  if  they 
could  find  a prince  beautiful  beyond  any,  surpassing  all 
philosophers  in  wisdom,  of  noblest  mind  and  richest  inherit- 
ance, would  she  marry  him?  The  queen  replied,  ‘He 
must  be  so  noble  that  all  men  shall  worship  him,  so  great 
that  I shall  never  think  I have  made  him  king,  so  rich  that 
none  shall  ever  say  I enriched  him,  so  beautiful  that  the 
angels  of  God  shall  desire  to  behold  him.  If  ye  can  find 
such  a prince,  he  shall  be  my  husband  and  the  lord  of  my 
heart.’  Now,  near  the  queen’s  palace  there  lived  a poor 
old  hermit  in  a cave,  and  that  very  night  the  holy  mother 
of  God  appeared  to  him,  and  told  him  the  king  who  should 
be  lord  of  the  queen’s  heart  was  none  other  than  her  Son. 
Then  the  hermit  went  to  the  palace  and  presented  the 
queen  with  a picture  of  the  Virgin  and  Child;  and  when 
St.  Catherine  saw  it  her  heart  was  so  filled  with  its  holy 
beauty  that  she  forgot  her  books,  her  spheres,  and  the 
stars;  Plato  and  Socrates  became  tedious  to  her  as  a twice- 
told  tale,  and  she  kept  the  sacred  picture  always  before  her. 
Then  one  night  she  had  a dream:  She  met  on  the  top  of 

a high  mountain  a glorious  company  of  angels,  clothed  in 
white,  with  chaplets  of  white  lilies.  She  fell  on  her  face 
before  them,  but  they  said,  ‘Stand  up,  dear  sister  Cather- 
ine, and  be  right  welcome.’  Then  they  led  her  by  the 
hand  to  another  company  of  angels  more  glorious  still, 
clothed  in  purple  with  chaplets  of  red  roses.  Before  these, 
again,  she  fell  on  her  face,  dazzled  with  their  glory;  but 
they  said,  ‘Stand  up,  dear  sister  Catherine;  thee  hath  the 
king  delighted  to  honor.’  Then  they  led  her  by  the 
hand  to  an  inner  chamber  of  the  palace  of  heaven, 
where  sat  a queen  in  state;  and  the  angels  said  to  her, 
‘Our  most  gracious  sovereign  lady,  empress  of  heaven, 
and  mother  of  the  King  of  Blessedness,  be  pleased  that 
we  present  unto,  you  this  our  sister,  whose  name  is  in 
the  Book  of  Life,  beseeching  you  to  accept  her  as  your 
daughter  and  handmaid.’  Then  our  blessed  lady  rose 
and  smiled  graciously,  and  led  St.  Catherine  to  her 
blessed  Son;  but  he  turned  from  her,  and  said  sadly,  ‘She 


THE  SCHONBER Q -COTTA  FAMILY . 


105 


is  not  fair  enough  for  me.’  Then  St.  Catherine  awoke, 
and  in  her  heart  all  day  echoed  the  words,  ‘She  is  not  fair 
enough  for  Mef  and  she  rested  not  until  she  became  a 
Christian  and  was  baptized.  And  then,  after  some  years, 
the  tyrant  Maximin  put  her  to  cruel  tortures,  and  beheaded 
her,  because  she  was  a Christian. 

“But  the  angels  took  her  body,  and  laid  it  in  a white 
marble  tomb  on  the  top  of  Mount  Sinai,  and  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  received  her  soul,  and  welcomed  her  to  heaven 
as  his  pure  and  spotless  bride — for  at  last  he  had  made  her 
fair  enough  for  him ; and  so  she  has  lived  ever  since 
in  heaven,  and  is  the  sister  of  the  angels.” 

With  Eva’s  legend  we  began  our  work  again;  and  in  the 
evening,  as  we  returned  with  our  faggots,  it  was  pleasant 
to  see  the  goats  creeping  on  before  the  long  shadows  which 
evening  began  to  throw  from  the  forests  across  the  green 
valleys. 

The  hymns  which  Eva  sang  seemed  quite  in  tune  with 
everything  else.  I did  not  want  to  understand  the  words; 
everything  seemed  singing  in  words  I could  not  help  feeling : 
“God  is  good  to  us  all.  He  gives  twigs  to  the  ants,  and 
grain  to  the  birds,  and  makes  the  trees  their  palaces  and 
teaches  them  to  sing;  and  will  he  not  care  for  you?” 

Then  the  hoys  were  so  good.  They  never  gave  me  a 
moment’s  anxiety,  not  even  Christopher,  but  collected  fag- 
gots twice  as  large  as  ours  in  half  the  time,  and  then  fin- 
ished ours,  and  then  performed  all  kinds  of  feats  in  climb- 
ing trees  and  leaping  brooks,  and  brought  home  countless 
treasures  for  Thekla. 

These  are  the  days  that  always  make  me  feel  so  much 
better,  even  a little  religious,  and  as  if  I could  almost  love 
God.  It  is  only  when  I come  back  again  into  the  streets, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  nine  monasteries,  and  see  the 
monks  and  priests  in  dark  robes  flitting  silently  about  with 
downcast  eyes,  that  I remember  we  are  not  like  the  birds 
or  even  the  ants,  for  they  have  never  sinned,  and  that, 
therefore,  God  cannot  care  for  us  and  love  us  as  he  seems 
to  do  the  least  of  his  other  creatures,  until  we  have  become 
holy  and  worked  our  way  through  that  great  wall  of  sin, 
which  keeps  us  from  him  and  shadows  all  our  life. 

Eva  does  not  feel  this.  As  we  returned  she  laid  her 
basket  down  on  the  threshold  of  St.  George’s  church,  and 
crossing  herself  with  holy  water,  went  softly  up  to  the  high 


106  THE  SGHONBEll G-CO TTA  FAMILY . 

altar,  and  there  she  knelt  while  the  lamp  burned  before  the 
Holy  Sacrament.  And  when  I looked  at  her  face  as  she 
rose,  it  was  beaming  with  joy. 

“You  are  happy,  Eva,  in  the  church  and  in  the  forest,” 
I said  to  her  as  we  went  home,  “ you  seem  at  home  every- 
where.” 

“Is  not  God  everywhere?”  she  said;  “and  has  he  not 
loved  the  world?” 

“But  our  sins!”  I said. 

“Have  we  rfot  the  Saviour?”  she  said,  bowing  her  head. 

“But  think  how  hard  people  lind  it  to  please  him,”  I 
said ; “ think  of  the  pilgrimages,  the  penances,  the  indul- 
gences?” 

“I  do  not  quite  understand  all  that,”  she  said;  “I  only 
quite  understand  my  sentence  and  the  crucifix  which  tells 
us  the  Son  of  God  died  for  man.  That  must  have  been 
from  love,  and  I love  him ; and  all  the  rest  I am  content  to 
leave.” 

But  to-night  as  I look  at  her  dear  childlike  face  asleep 
on  the  pillow,  and  se£  how  thin  the  cheek  is  which  those 
long  lashes  shade,  and  how  transparent  the  little  hand  on 
which  she  rests,  a cold  fear  comes  over  me  lest  God 
should  even  now  be  making  her  spirit  “fair  enough  for 
him,”  and  so  too  fair  for  earth  and  for  us. 

April  4. 

This  afternoon  I was  quite  cheered  by  seeing  Christo- 
pher and  Pollux  bending  together  eagerly  over  a book, 
which  they  had  placed  before  them  on  the  window-sill.  It 
reminded  me  of  Fritz,  and  I went  up  to  see  what  they  were 
reading. 

I found,  however,  to  my  dismay  it  was  no  church-book 
or  learned  Latin  school-book;  but,  on  the  contrary,  a Ger- 
man book  full  of  woodcuts,  which  shocked  me  very  much. 
It  was  called  “ Beinecke  Fuchs,”  and  as  far  as  I could  under- 
stand made  a jest  of  everything.  There  were  foxes  with 
monks’  frocks,  and  even  in  cardinals’  hats,  and  wolves  in 
cassocks  with  shaven  crowns.  Altogether  it  seemed  to 
me  a very  profane  and  perilous  book,  but  when  I took  it  to 
our  father,  to  my  amazement  he  seemed  as  much  amused 
with  it  as  the  boys,  and  said  there  were  evils  in  the  world 
Which  were  better  attacked  by  jests  than  by  sermons. 


THE  SCHON BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


10? 


April,  St.  Makk’s  Day. 

I have  just  heard  a sermon  about  despising  the  world, 
from  a great  preacher,  one  of  the  Dominican  friars,  who  is 
going  through  the  land  to  awaken  people  to  religion. 

He  spoke  especially  against  money,  which  he  called  de- 
lusion, and  dross,  and  worthless  dust,  and  a soul-destroying 
canker.  To  monks  no  doubt  it  may  be  so.  For  what  could 
they  do  with  it?  But  it  is  not  so  to  me.  Yesterday 
money  filled  my  heart  with  one  of  the  purest  joys  I have 
ever  known,  and  made  me  thank  God  as  I hardly  ever 
thanked  him  before. 

The  time  had  come  round  to  pay  for  some  of  the  printing- 
materials,  and  we  did  not  know  where  to  turn  for  the  sum 
we  needed.  Lately  I have  been  employing  my  leisure 
hours  in  embroidering  some  fine  Venetian  silk  Aunt  Ursula 
gave  me;  and  not  having  any  copies,  I had  brought  in  some 
fresh  leaves  and  flowers  from  the  forest  and  tried  to  imitate 
them,  hoping  to  sell  them. 

When  I had  finished,  it  was  thought  pretty  and  I carried 
it  to  the  merchant  who  took  the  father’s  precious  unfin- 
ished clock. 

He  has  always  been  kind  to  us  since,  and  has  procured  us 
ink  and  paper  at  a cheaper  rate  than  others  can  buy  it. 

When  I showed  him  my  work  he  seemed  surprised,  and 
instead  of  showing  it  to  his  wife,  as  I had  expected,  he  said 
smiling: 

“These  things  are  not  for  poor  honest  burghers  like  me. 
You  know  my  wife  might  be  fined  by  the  sumptuary  laws 
if  she  aped  the  nobility  by  wearing  anything  so  fine  as  this. 
I am  going  to  the  Wartburg  to  speak  about  a commission  I 
have  executed  for  the  Elector  Frederick,  and  if  you  like  I 
will  take  you  and  your  embroidery  with  me.” 

I felt  dismayed  at  first  at  such  an  idea,  but  I had  on  the 
new  dress  Fritz  gave  me  a year  ago,  and  I resolved  to 
venture. 

It  was  so  many  years  since  I had  passed  through  that 
massive  gateway  into  the  great  courtyard;  and  I thought 
of  St.  Elizabeth  distributing  loaves,  perhaps,  at  that  very 
gate,  and  entreated  her  to  make  the  elector  or  the  ladies  of 
his  court  propitious  to  me. 

I was  left  standing,  what  seemed  to  me  a long  time,  in 
an  anteroom.  Some  very  gayly  dressed  gentlemen  and 
ladies  passed  me  and  looked  at  me  rather  scornfully.  I 


108 


THE  SGHONB ERO-GO TTA  FAMILY. 


thought  the  courtiers  were  not  much  improved  since  the 
days  when  they  were  so  rude  to  St.  Elizabeth. 

But  at  last  I was  summoned  into  the  elector’s  presence. 
I trembled  very  much,  for  I thought:  If  the  servants  are 
so  haughty,  what  will  the  master  be?  But  he  smiled  on 
me  quite  kindly,  and  said,  “My  good  child,  I like  this 
work  of  thine;  and  this  merchant  tells  me  thou  art  a duti- 
ful daughter.  I will  purchase  this  at  once  for  one  of  my 
sisters,  and  pay  thee  at  once!” 

I was  so  surprised  and  delighted  with  his  kindness  that 
I cannot  remember  the  exact  words  of  what  he  said  after- 
ward, but  the  substance  of  them  was  that  the  elector  is 
building  a new  church  at  his  new  university  town  of 
"Wittenberg,  which  is  to  have  choicer  relics  than  any 
church  in  Germany.  And  I am  engaged  to  embroider 
altar-cloths  and  coverings  for  the  reliquaries.  And  the 
sum  already  paid  me  nearly  covers  our  present  debt. 

No!  whatever  that  Dominican  preacher  might  say,  noth- 
ing would  ever  persuade  me  that  these  precious  guldens, 
which  I took  home  yesterday  evening  with  a heart  brim- 
ming over  with  joy  and  thankfulness,  which  made  our 
father  clasp  his  hands  in  thanksgiving,  and  our  mother’s 
eyes  overflow  with  happy  tears  is  delusion,  or  dross,  or 
dust. 

Is  it  not  what  tve  make  it?  Dust  in  the  miser’s  chests; 
canker  in  the  proud  man’s  heart;  but  golden  sunbeams, 
streams  of  blessing  earned  by  a child’s  labor  and  comforting 
a parent’s  heart,  or  lovingly  poured  from  rich  men’s  hands 
into  poor  men’s  homes* 

April  20. 

Better  days  seem  dawning  at  last.  Dr.  Martin,  who 
preaches  now  at  the  elector’s  new  University  of  Witten- 
berg, must,  we  think,  have  spoken  to  the  elector  for  us, 
and  our  father  is  appointed  to  superintend  the  printing- 
press  especially  for  Latin  books,  which  is  to  be  set  up  there. 

And  sweeter  even  than  this,  it  is  from  Fritz  that  this 
boon  comes  to  us.  Fritz,  dear  unselfish  Fritz,  is  the  bene- 
factor of  the  family  after  all.  It  was  he  who  asked  Dr. 
Martin  Luther  to  speak  for  us.  There,  in  his  lonely  cell 
at  Erfurt,  he  thinks  then  of  us!  And  he  prays  for  us. 
He  will  never  forget  us.  His  new  name  will  not  alter  his 
heart.  And,  perhaps,  one  day  when  the  novitiate  is  over, 


THE  SOIL ONB ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


109 


we  may  see  him  again.  But  to  see  him  as  no  more  our 
Fritz,  but  Brother  Sebastian — his  home,  the  Augustinian 
cloister — his  mother,  the  church — his  sisters,  all  holy 
women — would  it  not  be  almost  worse  than  not  seeing  him 
at  all? 

We  are  all  to.  move  to  Wittenberg  in  a month,  except 
Pollux,  who  is  to  remain  with  Cousin  Conrad  Cotta,  to 
learn  to  be  a merchant. 

Christopher  begins  to  help  about  the  printing. 

There  was  another  thing  also  in  my  visit  to  the  Wart- 
burg,  which  gives  me  many  a gleam  of  joy  when  I think  of 
it.  If  the  elector,  whose  presence  I so  trembled  to  enter, 
proved  so  much  more  condescending  and  accessible  than  his 
courtiers — oh,  if  it  could  only  be  possible  that  we  are  mak- 
ing some  mistake  about  God,  and  that  he  after  all  may  be 
more  gracious  and  ready  to  listen  to  us  than  his  priests,  or 
even  than  the  saints  who  wait  on  him  in  his  palace  in 
heaven! 

PART  VIII. 
fritz’s  story. 

Erfurt,  Augustinian  Convent,  April  1. 

I suppose  conflict  of  mind,  working  on  a constitution 
weakened  by  the  plague,  brought  on  the  illness  from  which 
I am  just  recovering.  It  is  good  to  feel  strength  returning 
as  I do.  There  is  a kind  of  natural,  irresistible  delight  in 
life,  however  little  we  have  to  live  for,  especially  to  one  so 
little  prepared  to  die  as  I am.  As  I write,  the  rooks  are 
cawing  in  the  churchyard  elms,  disputing  and  chattering 
like  a set  of  busy  prosaic  burghers.  But  retired  from  all 
this  noisy  public  life,  two  thrushes  have  built  their  nest  in 
a thorn  just  under  the  window  of  my  cell.  And  early  in 
the  morning  they  wake  me  with  song.  One  flies  "'hither 
and  thither  as  busy  as  a bee,  with  food  for  his  mate,  as  she 
broods  secure  among  the  thick  leaves,  and  then  he  perches 
on  a twig,  and  sings  as  if  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  be 
happy.  All  is  pleasure  to  him,  no  doubt — the  work  as  well 
as  the  singing.  Happy  the  creatures  for  whom  it  is  God’s 
will  that  they  should  live  according  to  their  nature,  and 
not  contrary  to  it. 

Probably  in  the  recovering  from  illness,  when  the  body  is 


110 


TEE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


still  weak,  yet  thrilling  with  reviving  strength,  the  heart  is 
especially  tender,  and  yearns  more  toward  home  and  former 
life  than  it  will  when  strength  returns  and  brings  duties. 
Or,  perhaps,  this  illness  recalls  the  last — and  the  loving 
faces  and  soft,  hushed  voices  that  were  around  me  then. 

Yet  I have  nothing  to  complain  of.  My  aged  confessor 
has  scarcely  left  my  bedside.  From  the  first  he  brought 
his  bed  into  my  cell,  and  watched  over  me  like  a father. 

And  his  words  minister  to  my  heart  as  much  as  his  hands 
to  my  bodily  wants. 

If  my  spirit  would  only  take  the  comfort  he  offers,  as 
easily  as  I receive  food  and  medicine  from  his  hands! 

He  does  not  attempt  to  combat  my  difficulties  one  by  one. 
He  says: 

“I  am  little  of  a physician.  I cannot  lay  my  hand  on 
the  seat  of  disease.  But  there  is  One  who  can.”  And  to 
him  I know  the  simple-hearted  old  man  prays  for  me. 

Often  he  recurs  to  the  declaration  in  the  creed,  “I  be- 
lieve in  the  forgiveness  of  sins.”  “ It  is  the  command  of 
God,”  he  said  to  me  one  day,  “that  we  should  believe  in 
the  forgiveness  of  sins,  not  of  David’s  or  Peter’s  sins  but  of 
ours,  our  own,  the  very  sins  that  distress  our  consciences.” 
He  also  quoted  a sermon  of  St.  Bernard’s  on  the  annunci- 
ation. 

“The  testimony  of  the  Holy  Ghost  given  in  thy  heart  is 
this,  ‘Thy  sins  are  forgiven  thee.’  ” 

Yes,  forgiven  to  all  penitents!  But  who  «an  assure  me 
I am  a true  penitent? 

These  words,  he  told  me,  comforted  Brother  Martin  and 
he  wonders  they  do  not  comfort  me.  I suppose  Brother 
Martin  had  the  testimony  of  the  Holy  Ghost  in  his  heart; 
but  who  shall  give  that  to  me?  to  me  who  resisted  the 
vocation  of  the  Holy  Ghost  so  long;  who  in  my  deepest 
heart  obey  it  so  imperfectly  still! 

Brother  Martin  was  faithful,  honest,  thorough,  single- 
hearted — all  that  God  accepts;  all  that  I am  not. 

The  affection  and  compassion  of  my  aged  confessor  often, 
however,  comfort  me,  even  when  his  words  have  little 
power.  They  make  me  feel  a dim  hope  now  and  then  that 
the  Lord  he  serves  may  have  something  of  the  same  pity  in 
his  heart. 


THE  SCHOH  BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Ill 


Erfurt,  April  15. 

The  Vicar-General,  Staupitz,  has  visited  our  convent.  I 
have  confessed  to  him.  He  was  very  gentle  to  me,  and  to 
my  surprise  prescribed  me  scarcely-  any  penance,  although 
I endeavored  to  unveil  all  to  him. 

Once  he  murmured,  as  if  to  himself,  looking  at  me  with 
a penetrating  compassion,  “ Yes,  there  is  no  drawing  hack. 
But  I wish  I had  known  this  before.”  And  then  he  added 
to  me,  “ Brother,  we  must  not  confuse  suffering  with  sin. 
It  is  sin  to  turn  back.  It  may  be  anguish  to  look  back  and 
see  what  we  have  renounced,  but  it  is  not  necessarily  sin, 
if  we  resolutely  press  forward  still.  And  if  sin  mingles 
with  the  regret,  remember  we  have  to  do  not  with  a 
painted,  but  a real  Saviour;  and  he  died  not  for  painted, 
but  for  real  sins.  Sin  is  never  overcome  by  looking  at  it, 
but  by  looking  away  from  it  to  him  who  bore  our  sins, 
yours  and  mine,  on  the  cross.  The  heart  is  never  won  back 
to  God  by  thinking  we  ought  to  love  him,  but  by  learning 
what  he  is,  all  worthy  of  our  love.  True  repentance  begins 
with  the  love  of  God.  The  Holy  Spirit  teaches  us  to  know, 
and,  therefore,  to  love  God.  Fear  not,  but  read  the 
Scriptures,  and  pray.  He  will  employ  thee  in  his  service 
yet,  and  in  his  favor  is  life,  and  in  his  service  is  freedom.” 

This  confession  gave  me  great  comfort  for  the  time.  I 
felt  myself  understood,  and  yet  not  despaired  of.  And 
that  evening,  after  repeating  the  hours,  I ventured  in  my 
own  words  to  pray  to  God,  and  found  it  solemn  and  sweet. 

But  since  then  my  old  fear  has  recurred.  Did  I indeed 
confess  completely  even  to  the  vicar-general?  If  I had, 
would  not  his  verdict  have  been  different?  Does  not  the  very 
mildness  of  his  judgment  prove  that  I have  once  more  de- 
ceived myself — made  a false  confession,  and,  therefore, 
failed  of  the  absolution?  But  it  is  a relief  to  have  his 
positive  command  as  my  superior  to  study  the  holy  Scrip- 
tures, instead  of  the  scholastic  theologians,  to  whose  writings 
my  preceptor  had  lately  been  exclusively  directing  my 
studies. 

v April  25. 

I have  this  day,  to  my  surprise,  received  a command, 
issuing  from  the  vicar-general,  to  prepare  to  set  off  on  a 
mission  to  Borne. 


112 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


The  monk  under  whose  direction  I am  to  journey  I do 
not  yet  know. 

The  thought  of  the  new  scenes  we  shall  pass  through, 
and  the  wonderful  new  world  we  shall  enter  on,  new  and 
old,  fills  me  with  an  almost  childish  delight.  Since  I heard 
it,  my  heart  and  conscience  seem  to  have  become  strangely 
lightened,  which  proves,  I fear,  how  little  real  earnestness 
there  is  in  me. 

Another  thing,  however,  has  comforted  me  greatly.  In 
the  course  of  my  confession  I spoke  to  the  vicar-general 
about  my  family,  and  he  has  procured  for  my  father  an  ap- 
pointment as  superintendent  of  the  Latin  printing  press,  at 
the  elector’s  new  University  of  Wittenberg. 

I trust  now  that  the  heavy  pressure  of  pecuniary  care 
which  has  weighed  so  long  on  my  mother  and  Else  will  be 
relieved.  It  would  have  been  sweeter  to  me  to  have  earned 
this  relief  for  them  by  my  own  exertions.  But  we  must 
not  choose  the  shape  or  the  time  in  which  divine  messen- 
gers shall  appear. 

The  vicar-general  has,  moreover,  presented  me  with  a 
little  volume  of  sermons  by  a pious  Dominican  friar,  named 
Tauler.  These  are  wonderfully  deep  and  heart-searching. 
I find  it  difficult  to  reconcile  the  sublime  and  enrapt  devo- 
tion to  God  which  inspires  them  with  the  minute  rules  of 
our  order,  the  details  of  scholastic  casuistry,  and  the  precise 
directions  as  to  the  measure  of  worship  and  honor,  Dulia, 
Hyperdulia,  and  Latria  to  be  paid  to  the  various  orders  of 
heavenly  beings,  which  make  prayer  often  seem  as  perplex- 
ing to  me  as  the  ceremonial  of  the  imperial  court  would  to 
a peasant  of  the  Thuringian  forest. 

This  Dominican  speaks  as  if  we  might  soar  above  all  these 
lower  things,  and  lose  ourselves  in  the  one  ineffable  source, 
ground,  beginning,  and  end  of  all  being;  the  One  who  is 
all. 

Dearer  to  me,  however,  than  this,  is  an  old  manuscript 
in  our  convent  library,  containing  the  confessions  of  the 
patron  of  our  order  himself,  the  great  Father  Augustine. 

Straight  from  his  heart  it  penetrates  into  mine,  as  if 
spoken  to  me  to-day.  Passionate,  fervent,  struggling, 
wandering,  trembling,  adoring  heart,  I feel  its  pulses 
through  every  line! 

And  was  this  the  experience  of  one  who  is  now  a saint  on 
the  most  glorious  heights  of  heaven? 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


113 


Then  the  mother!  Patient,  lowly,  noble,  saintly  Mon- 
ica; mother,  and  more  than  martyr.  She  rises  before  mo 
in  the  likeness  of  a beloved  form  I may  remember  without 
sin,  even  here,  even  now.  St.  Monica  speaks  to  me  with 
my  mother’s  voice;  and  in  the  narrative  of  her  prayers  I 
seem  to  gain  a deeper  insight  into  what  my  mother’s  have 
been  for  me. 

St.  Augustine  was  happy,  to  breathe  the  last  words  of 
comfort  to  her  himself  as  he  did,  to  be  with  her,  dwelling 
in  one  house  to  the  last.  This  can  scarcely  be  given  to  me. 
“That  sweet,  dear  habit  of  living  together”  is  broken  for- 
ever between  us;  broken  by  my  deliberate  act.  “For  the 
glory  of  God;”  may  God  accept  it;  if  not,  may  he  forgive. 

That  old  manuscript  is  worn  with  reading.  It  has  lain 
in  the  convent  library  for  certainly  more  than  a hundred 
years.  Generation  after  generation  of  those  who  now  lie 
sleeping  in  the  field  of  God  below  our  windows  have  turned 
over  those  pages.  Heart  after  heart  has  doubtless  come,  as 
I came,  to  consult  the  oracle  of  that  deep  heart  of  old 
times,  so  nearly  shipwrecked,  so  gloriously  saved. 

As  I read  the  old  thumbed  volume,  a company  of  spirits 
seem  to  breathe  in  fellowship  around  me,  and  I think  how 
many,  strengthened  by  these  words,  are  perhaps  even  now, 
like  him  who  penned  them,  among  the  spirits  of  the  just 
made  perfect. 

In  the  convent  library,  the  dead  seem  to  live  again 
around  me.  In  the  cemetery  are  the  relics  of  the  corrupt- 
ible body.  Among  these  worn  volumes  I feel  the  breath  of 
the  living  spirits  of  generations  passed  away. 

I must  say,  however,  there  is  more  opportunity  for  soli- 
tary communion  with  the  departed  in  that  library  than  I 
could  wish.  The  books  are  not  so  much  read,  certainly,  in 
these  days,  as  the  vicar-general  would  desire,  although  the 
Augustinian  has  the  reputation  of  being  among  the  more 
learned  orders. 

I often  question  what  brought  many  of  these  easy,  com- 
fortable monks  here.  But  many  of  the  faces  give  no  reply 
to  my  search.  No  history  seems  written  on  them.  The 
wrinkles  seem  mere  ruts  of’the  wheels  of  time,  not  furrow* 
sown  with  the  seeds  of  thought — happy  at  least  if  they  are 
not  as  fissures  rent  by  the  convulsions  of  inward  fires. 

I suppose  many  of  the  brethren  became  monks  just  as 
other  men  become  tailors  or  shoemakers,  and  with  no 


114 


THE  BGHONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY . 


further  spiritual  aim,  because  their  parents  planned  it  so. 
But  I may  wrong  even  the  meanest  in  saying  so.  The 
shallowest  human  heart  has  depths  somewhere,  let  them  be 
crusted  over  by  ice  ever  so  thick,  or  veiled  by  flowers  ever 
so  fair. 

And  I — I and  this  unknown  brother  are  actually  about 
to  journey  to  Italy,  the  glorious  land  of  sunshine  and  vines, 
and  olives,  and  ancient  cities — the  land  of  Borne,  imperial, 
saintly  Borne,  where  countless  martyrs  sleep,  where  St. 
Augustine  and  Monica  sojourned;  where  St.  Paul  and  St. 
Peter  preached  and  suffered — where  the  vicar  of  Christ 
lives  and  reigns. 

May  1. 

The  brother  with  whom  l am  to  make  the  pilgrimage  to 
Borne  arrived  last  night.  To  my  inexpressible  delight  it  is 
none  other  than  Brother  Martin — Martin  Luther — profes- 
sor of  theology  in  the  elector’s  new  University  of  Witten- 
berg. He  is  much  changed  again  since  I saw  him  last  toil- 
ing through  the  streets  of  Erfurt  with  the  sack  on  his 
shoulder.  The  hollow,  worn  look  has  disappeared  from 
his  face,  and  the  fire  has  come  back  to  his  eyes.  Their 
expression  varies,  indeed,  often  from  the  sparkle  of  merri- 
ment to  a grave  earnestness,  when  all  their  light  seems 
withdrawn  inward;  but  underneath  there  is  that  kind  of 
repose  I have  noticed  in  the  countenance  of  my  aged 
confessor. 

Brother  Martin’s  face  has,  indeed,  a history  written  on 
it,  and  a history,  I deem,  not  yet  finished. 

Heidelberg,  May  25. 

I wohdered  at  the  lightness  of  heart  with  which  I set 
out  on  our  journey  from  Erfurt. 

The  vicar-general  himself  accompanied  ns  hither.  We 
traveled  partly  on  horseback,  and  partly  in  wheeled 
carriages. 

The  conversation  turned  much  on  the  prospects  of  the 
new  university,  and  the  importance  of  finding  good  profes- 
sors of  the  ancient  languages  for  it.  Brother  Martin  him- 
self proposed  to  make  use  of  his  sojourn  at  Borne,  to 
improve  himself  in  Greek  and  Hebrew,  by  studying  under 
the  learned  Greeks  and  rabbis  there.  They  counsel  me  also 
to  do  the  same* 


TI1E  SGHONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY . 


115 


The  business  which  calls  us  to  Rome  is  an  appeal  to  the 
holy  father,  concerning  a dispute  between  some  convents 
of  our  order  and  the  vicar-general. 

But  they  say  business  is  slowly  conducted  at  Rome,  and 
will  leave  us  much  time  for  other  occupations,  besides 
those  which  are  most  on  our  hearts,  namely,  paying  hom- 
age at  the  tombs  of  the  holy  apostles  and  martyrs. 

They  speak  most  respectfully  and  cordially  of  the  Elec- 
tor Frederic,  who  must  indeed  be  a very  devout  prince. 
Not  many  years  since  he  accomplished  a pilgrimage  to 
Jerusalem,  and  took  with  him  the  painter  Lucas  Cranach, 
to  make  drawings  of  the  various  holy  places. 

About  ten  years  since,  he  built  a church  dedicated  to  St. 
Ursula,  on  the  site  of  the  small  chapel  erected  in  1353,  over 
the  holy  thorn  from  the  crown  of  thorns,  presented  to  a 
fomer  elector  by  the  king  of  France. 

This  church  is  already,  they  say,  through  the  Elector 
Frederic’s  diligence,  richer  in  relics  than  any  church  in 
Europe,  except  that  of  Assisi,  the  birthplace  of  St.  Francis. 
And  the  collection  is  still  continually  being  increased. 

They  showed  me  a book  printed  at  Wittenberg  a year  or 
two  since,  entitled  “A  Description  of  the  Venerable 
Relics,”  adorned  with  one  hundred  and  nineteen  woodcuts. 

The  town  itself  seems  to  be  still  poor  and  mean  compared 
with  Eisnach  and  Erfurt;  and  the  students,  of  whom  there 
are  now  nearly  five  hundred,  are  at  times  very  turbulent. 
There  is  much  beer-drinking  among  them.  In  1507,  three 
years  since,  the  bishop  of  Brandenburg  laid  the  whole  city 
under  interdict  for  some  insult  offered  by  the  students  to 
his  suite,  and  now  they  are  forbidden  to  wear  guns,  swords, 
or  knives. 

Brother  Martin,  however,  is  full  of  hope  as  to  the  good 
to  be  done  among  them.  He  himself  received  the  degree 
of  Biblicus  (Bible  teacher)  on  the  9th  of  March  last  year; 
and  every  day  he  lectures  between  twelve  and  one  o’clock. 

Last  summer,  for  the  first  time,  he  was  persuaded  by  the 
vicar-general  to  preach  publicly.  I heard  some  conversa- 
tion between  them  in  reference  to  this,  which  afterward 
Brother  Martin  explained  to  me. 

Dr.  Staupitz  and  Brother  Martin  were  sitting  last  sum- 
mer in  the  convent  garden  at  Wittenberg  together,  under 
the  shade  of  a pear  tree,  while  the  vicar-general  endeav- 
ored to  prevail  on  him  to  preach.  He  was  exceedingly 


116 


THE  SGHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


unwilling  to  make  the  attempt.  “It  is  no  little  matter,” 
said  he  to  Dr.  Staupitz,  “ to  appear  before  the  people  in  the 
place  of  God.  I had  fifteen  arguments,”  he  continued  in 
relating  it,  “ wherewith  I purposed  to  resist  my  vocation; 
hut  they  availed  nothing.  At  the  last  I said,  ‘Dr.  Stau- 
pitz you  will  be  the  death  of  me,  for  I cannot  live  under  it 
three  months.’  ‘Very  well,’  replied  Dr.  Staupitz,  ‘still 
go  on.  Our  Lord  God  hath  many  great  things  to  accom- 
plish, and  he  has  need  of  wise  men  in  heaven  as  well  as  on 
earth.’  ” 

Brother  Martin  could  not  further  resist,  and  after  mak- 
ing a trial  before  the  brethren  in  the  refectory,  at  last,  with 
a trembling  heart  he  mounted  the  pulpit  of  the  little  chapel 
of  the  Augustinian  cloister. 

“ When  a preacher  for  the  first  time  enters  the  pulpit,” 
he  concluded,  “no  one  would  believe  how  fearful  he  is;  he 
sees  so  many  heads  before  him.  When  I go  into  the  pulpit, 
I do  not  look  on  any  one.  I think  them  only  to  be  so  many 
blocks  before  me,  and  I speak  out  the  words  of  my  God.” 

And  yet  Dr.  Staupitz  says  his  words  are  like  thunder- 
peals. Yet!  do  I say?  Is  it  not  because?  He  feelshim- 
selfnothing; he  feels  his  message  everything;  he  feels  God 
present.  What  more  could  be  needed  to  make  a man  of  his 
power  a great  preacher? 

With  such  discourse  the  journey  seemed  accomplished 
quickly  indeed.  And  yet,  almost  the  happiest  hours  to  me 
were  those  when  we  were  all  silent,  and  the  new  scenes 
passed  rapidly  before  me.  It  was  a great  rest  to  live  for  a 
time  on  what  I saw,  and  cease  from  thought,  and  remem- 
brance, and  inward  questionings  altogether.  For  have  I 
not  been  commanded  this  journey  by  my  superiors,  so  that 
in  accordance  with  my  vow  of  obedience,  my  one  duty  at 
present  is  to  travel;  and  therefore  what  pleasure  it  chances 
to  bring  I must  not  refuse. 

We  spent  some  hours  in  Nuremberg.  The  quaint  rich 
carvings  of  many  of  the  houses  were  beautiful.  There  also 
we  saw  Albrecht  Diirer’s  paintings,  and  heard  Hans  Sachs, 
the  shoemaker  and  poet,  sing  his  godly  German  hymns. 
And  as  we  crossed  the  Bavarian  plains,  the  friendliness  of 
the  simple  peasantry  made  up  to  us  for  the  sameness  of  the 
country. 

Near  Heidelberg  again  I fancied  myself  once  more  in  the 
Tliuringian  forest,  especially  as  we  rested  in  the  convent  of 


TEE  SCEOEB  ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY . 117 

Erbach  in  the  Odenwald.  Again  the  familiar  forests  and 
green  valleys  with  their  streams  were  around  me.  I fear 
Else  and  the  others  will  miss  the  beauty  of  the  forest- 
covered  hills  around  Eisenach,  when  they  remove  to  Wit- 
tenberg, which  is  situated  on  a barren,  monotonous  flat. 
About  this  time  they  will  be  moving! 

Brother  Martin  has  held  many  disputations  on  theolog- 
ical and  philosophical  questions  in  the  University  of  Heidel- 
berg; but  I,  being  only  a novice,  have  been  free  to  wander 
whither  I would. 

This  evening  it  was  delightful  to  stand  in  the  woods  of 
the  elector  palatine’s  castle,  and  from  among  the  oaks  and 
delicate  bushes  rustling  about  me,  to  look  down  on  the  hills 
of  the  Odenwald  folding  over  each  other.  Far  up  among 
them  I traced  the  narrow,  quiet  Neckar,  issuing  from  the 
silent  depths  of  the  forest;  while  on  the  other  side,  below 
the  city,  it  wound  on  through  the  plain  to  the  Khine, 
gleaming  here  and  there  with  the  gold  of  sunset  or  the  cold 
gray  light  of  the  evening.  Beyond,  far  off,  I could  see  the 
masts  of  ships  on  the  Rhine. 

I scarcely  know  why  the  river  made  me  think  of  life,  of 
mine  and  Brother  Martin’s.  Already  he  has  left  the 
shadow  of  the  forests.  Who  can  say  what  people  his  life 
will  bless,  what  sea  it  will  reach,  and  through  what  perils? 
Of  this  I feel  sure,  it  will  matter  much  to  many  what  its 
course  shall  be.  For  me  it  is  otherwise.  My  life,  as  far  as 
earth  is  concerned,  seems  closed — ended;  and  it  can  matter 
little  to  any,  henceforth,  through  what  regions  it  passes,  if 
only  it  reaches  the  ocean  at  last,  and  ends,  as  they  say,  in 
the  bosom  of  God.  If  only  we  could  be  sure  that  God 
guides  the  course  of  our  lives  as  he  does  that  of  rivers. 
And  yet,  do  they  not  say  that  some  rivers  even  lose  them- 
selves in  sand-wastes,  and  others  trickle  meanly  to  the  sea 
through  lands  they  have  desolated  into  untenantable 
marshes ! 

Black  Forest,  May  14,  1510. 

Brother  Martust  and  I are  now  fairly  on  our  pilgrimage 
alone,  walking  all  day,  begging  our  provisions  and  our 
lodgings,  which  he  sometimes  repays  with  performing  a 
mass  in  the  parish  church,  or  a promise  of  reciting  certain 
prayers  or  celebrating- masses  on  the  behalf  of  our  benefac- 
tors, at  Rome. 


118 


THE  SGHONBERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


These  are,  indeed,  precious  days.  My  whole  frame  seems 
braced  and  revived  by  the  early  rising,  the  constant  move- 
ment in  the  pure  air,  the  pressing  forward  to  a definite 
point. 

But  more,  infinitely  more  than  this,  my  heart  seems  re- 
viving. I begin  to  have  a hope  and  see  a light  which,  until 
now,  I scarcely  deemed  possible. 

To  encourage  me  in  my  perplexities  and  conflicts, 
Brother  Martin  unfolded  to  me  what  his  own  had  been. 
To  the  storm  of  doubt,  and  fear,  and  anguish  in  that  great 
heart  of  his,  my  troubles  seem  like  a passing  spring  shower. 
Yet  to  me  they  were  tempests  which  laid  my  heart  waste. 
And  God,  Brother  Martin  believes,  does  not  measure  his 
pity  by  what  our  sorrows  are  in  themselves,  but  what  they 
are  to  us.  Are  we  not  all  children  in  his  sight? 

“ I did  not  learn  my  divinity  at  once,”  he  said,  “but  was 
constrained  by  my  temptations  to  search  deeper  and  deeper; 
for  no  man  without  trials  and  temptations  can  attain  a true 
understanding  of  the  holy  Scriptures.  St.  Paul  had  a devil 
that  beat  him  with  fists,  and  with  temptations  drove  him 
diligently  to  study  the  holy  Scriptures.  Temptations 
hunted  me  into  the  Bible,  wherein  I sedulously  read;  and 
thereby,  God  be  praised,  at  length  attained  a true  under- 
standing of  it.” 

He  then  related  to  me  what  some  of  these  temptations 
were;  the  bitter  disappointment  it  was  to  him  to  find  that 
the  cowl,  and  even  the  vows  and  the  priestly  consecration, 
made  no  change  in  his  heart;  that  Satan  was  as  near  him 
in  the  cloister  as  outside,  and  he  no  stronger  to  cope  with 
him.  He  told  me  of  his  endeavors  to  keep  every  minute 
rule  of  the  order,  and  how  the  slightest  deviation  weighed 
on  his  conscience.  It  seems  to  have  been  like  trying  to  re- 
strain a fire  by  a fence  of  willows,  or  to  guide  a mountain 
torrent  in  artificial  windings  through  a flower-garden,  to 
bind  his  fervent  nature  by  these  vexatious  rules.  He  was 
continually  becoming  absorbed  in  some  thought  or  study, 
and  forgetting  all  the  rules,-  and  then  painfully  he  would 
turn  back  and  retrace  his  steps — sometimes  spending  weeks 
in  absorbing  study,  and  then  remembering  he  had  neglected 
his  canonical  hours,  and  depriving  himself  of  sleep  for 
nights  to  make  up  the  missing  prayers. 

He  fasted,  disciplined  himself,  humbled  himself  to  per- 
form the  meanest  offices  for  the  meanest  brother;  forcibly 


THE  SCHON  BERG-COTTA  FAMILY.  119 

kept  sleep  from  his  eyes,  wearied  with  study,  and  his  mind 
worn  out  with  conflict,  until  every  now  and  then  Nature 
avenged  herself  by  laying  him  unconscious  on  the  floor  of 
his  cell,  or  disabling  him  by  a fit  of  illness. 

But  all  in  vain;  his  temptations  seemed  to  grow  stronger, 
his  strength  less.  Love  to  God  he  could  not  feel  at  all; 
but  in  his  secret  soul  the  bitterest  questioning  of  God,  who 
seemed  to  torment  him  at  once  by  the  law  and  the  gospel. 
He  thought  of  Christ  as  the  severest  judge,  because  the 
most  righteous;  and  the  very  phrase,  “the  righteousness  of 
God,”  was  torture  to  him. 

. Not  that  this  state  of  distress  was  continual  with  him. 
At  times  he  gloried  in  his  obedience,  and  felt  that  he  earned 
rewards  from  God  by  performing  the  sacrifice  of  the  mass, 
not  only  for  himself,  but  for  others.  At  times,  also,  in  his 
circuits,  after  his  consecration,  to  say  mass  in  the  villages 
around  Erfurt,  he  would  feel  his  spirits  lightened  by  the 
variety  of  the  scenes  he  witnessed,  and  would  be  greatly 
amused  at  the  ridiculous  mistakes  of  the  village  choirs;  for 
instance,  their  chanting  the  “Kyrie”  to  the  music  of  the 
“ Gloria.” 

Then,  at  other  times,  his  limbs  would  totter  with  terror 
when  he  offered  the  holy  sacrifice,  at  the  thought  that  he, 
the  sacrificing  priest,  yet  the  poor,  sinful  Brother  Martin, 
actually  stood  before  God  “without  a mediator.” 

At  his  first  mass  he  had  difficulty  in  restraining  himself 
from  flying  from  the  altar — so  great  was  his  awe  and  the 
sense  of  his  unworthiness.  Had  he  done  so,  he  would  have 
been  excommunicated. 

Again,  there  were  days  when  he  performed  the  services 
with  some  satisfaction,  and  would  conclude  with  saying, 
“Oh  Lord  Jesus,  I come  to  thee,  and  entreat  thee  to  be 
pleased  with  whatsoever  I do  and  suffer  in  my  order;  and  I 
pray  thee  that  these  burdens  and  this  straitness  of  my  rule 
and  religion  may  be  a full  satisfaction  for  all  my  sins.”  Yet 
then  again,  the  dread  would  come  that  perhaps  he  had  in- 
advertently omitted  some  word  in  the  service,  such  as 
“ enim ” or  “ (sternum ,”  or  neglected  some  prescribed  genu- 
flection, or  even  a signing  of  the  cross;  and  that  thus, 
instead  of  offering  to  God  an  acceptable  sacrifice  in  the 
mass,  he  had  committed  a grievous  sin. 

From  such  terrors  of  conscience  he  fled  for  refuge  to 
some  of  his  twenty-one  patron  saints,  oroftener  to  Mary? 


120 


THE  SCIIONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


seeking  to  touch  her  womanly  heart,  that  she  might  appease 
her  Son.  He  hoped  that  by  invoking  three  saints  daily, 
and  by  letting  his  body  waste  away  with  fastings  and 
watchings,  he  should  satisfy  the  law,  and  shield  his  con- 
science against  the  goad  of  the  driver.  But  it  all  availed 
him  nothing.  The  further  he  went  on  in  this  way,  the 
more  he  was  terrified. 

And  then  he  related  to  me  how  the  light  broke  upon  his 
heart;  slowly,  intermittently,  indeed;  yet  it  has  dawned  on 
him.  His  day  may  often  be  dark  and  tempestuous;  but  it 
is  day,  and  not  night. 

Dr.  Staupitz  was  the  first  who  brought  him  any  comfort. 
The  vicar-general  received  his  confession  not  long  after  he 
entered  the  cloister,  and  from  that  time  won  his  confidence, 
and  took  the  warmest  interest  in  him.  Brother  Martin 
frequently  wrote  to  him;  and  once  he  used  the  words,  in 
reference  to  some  neglect  of  the  rules  which  troubled  his 
conscience,  “Oh,  my  sins,  my  sins!”  Dr.  Staupitz  replied, 
“You  would  be  without  sin,  and  yet  you  have  no  proper 
sins.  Christ  forgives  true  sins,  such  as  parricide,  blas- 
phemy, contempt  of  God,  adultery,  and  sins  like  these. 
These  are  sins  indeed.  You  must  have  a register  in  which 
stand  veritable  sins,  if  Christ  is  to  help  you.  You  would 
be  a painted  sinner,  and  have  a painted  Christ  as  a Saviour. 
You  must  make  up  your  mind  that  Christ  is  a real  Saviour, 
and  you  a real  sinner.” 

These  words  brought  some  light  to  Brother  Martin,  but 
the  darkness  came  back  again  and  again;  and  tenderly  did 
Dr.  Staupitz  sympathize  with  him  and  rouse  him — Dr. 
Staupitz,  and  that  dear,  aged  confessor,  who  ministered 
also  so  lovingly  to  me. 

Brother  Martin’s  great  terror  was  the  thought  of  the 
righteousness  of  God,  by  which  he  had  been  taught  to 
understand  his  inflexible  severity  in  executing  judgment  on 
sinners. 

Dr.  Staupitz  and  the  confessor  explained  to  him  that  the 
righteousness  of  God  is  not  against  the  sinner  who  believes 
in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  but  for  him — not  against  us  to 
condemn,  but  for  us  to  justify. 

He  began  to  study  the  Bible  with  a new  zest.  He  had 
had  the  greatest  longing  to  understand  rightly  the  Epistle  of 
St.  Paul  to  the  Romans,  but  was  always  stopped  by  the  word 
“righteousness”  in  the  first  chapter  and  seventeenth  verse, 


THE  SCH ONBER Gf-CO TTA  FAMILY . 


121 


where  Paul  says  the  righteousness  of  God  is  revealed  by  the 
gospel.  “I  felt  very  angry,”  he  said,  “at  fche  term  ‘right- 
eousness of  God;’  for,  after  the  manner  of  all  the  teachers, 
I was  taught  to  understand  it  in  a philosophic  sense,  of 
that  righteousness  by  which  God  is  just  and  punisheth  the 
guilty.  Though  I had  lived  without  reproach,  I felt  my- 
self to  be  a great  sinner  before  God,  and  was  of  a very 
quick  conscience,  and  had  not  confidence  in  a reconciliation 
with  God  to  be  produced  by  any  work  or  satisfaction  or 
merit  of  my  own.  For  this  cause,  I had  in  me  no  love  of 
a righteous  and  angry  God,  but  secretly  hated  him,  and 
thought  within  myself,  is  it  not  enough  that  God  has  con- 
demned us  to  everlasting  death  by  Adam’s  sin,  and  that  we 
must  suffer  so  much  trouble  and  misery  in  this  life?  Over 
and  above  the  terror  and  threatening  of  the  law,  must  he 
needs  increase  by  the  gospel  our  misery  and  anguish,  and, 
by  the  preaching  of  the  same,  thunder  against  us  his  justice 
and  fierce  wrath?  My  confused  conscience  ofttimes  did 
cast  me  into  fits  of  anger,  and  I sought  day  and  night  to 
make  out  the  meaning  of  Paul;  and  at  last  I came  to  ap- 
prehend it  thus:  Through  the  gospel  is  revealed  the  right- 
eousness which  availeth  with  God — a righteousness  by 
which  God,  in  his  mercy  and  compassion,  justifieth  us;  as 
it  is  written,  ‘Tin  just  shall  live  by  faith .’  Straightway  I 
felt  as  if  I were  born  anew;  it  was  as  if  I had  found  the 
door'of  paradise  thrown  wide  open.  Now  I saw  the  Scrip- 
tures altogether  in  a new  light — ran  through  their  whole 
contents  as  far  as  my  memory  would  serve,  and  compared 
them— and  found  that  this  righteousness  was  the  more 
surely  that  by  which  he  makes  us  righteous,  because  every- 
thing agreed  thereunto  so  well.  The  expression,  ‘the 
righteousness  of  God,’  which  I so  much  hated  before, 
became  now  dear  and  precious — my  darling  and  most  com- 
forting word.  That  passage  of  Paul  was  to  me  the  true 
door  of  paradise.” 

Brother  Martin  also  told  me  of  the  peace  the  words,  “ I 
believe  in  the  forgiveness  of  sins,”  brought  to  him,  as  the 
aged  confessor  had  previously  narrated  to  me;  for,  he  said, 
Ae  devil  often  plucked  him  back,  and,  taking  the  very 
form  of  Christ,  sought  to  terrify  him  again  with  his  signs. 

As  I listened  to  him,  the  conviction  came  on  me  that  he 
had  indeed  drunk  of  the  well-spring  of  everlasting  life,  and 
it  seemed  almost  within  my  own  reach;  but  I said; 


122 


THE  BCIIONBEH O -GOTTA  FAMIL  Y. 


“Brother  Martin,  your  sins  were  mere  transgressions  of 
human  rules,  hut  mine  are  different.”  And  I told  him 
how  I had  resisted  my  vocation.  He  replied : 

“The  devil  gives  heaven  to  people  before  they  sin;  but 
after  they  sin,  brings  their  consciences  into  despair.  Christ 
deals  quite  in  the  contrary  way,  for  he  gives  heaven  after 
sins  committed,  and  makes  troubled  consciences  joyful.” 
Then  we  fell  into  a long  silence,  and  from  time  to  time, 
as  I looked  at  the  calm  which  reigned  on  his  rugged  and 
massive  brow,  and  felt  the  deep  light  in  his  dark  eyes,  the 
conviction  gathered  strength: 

“This  solid  thing  on  which  that  tempest-tossed  spirit 
rests  is  Truth.” 

His  lips  moved  now  and  then,  as  if  in  prayer,  and  his 
eyes  were  lifted  up  from  time  to  time  to  heaven,  as  if  his 
thoughts  found  a home  there. 

After  this  silence,  he  spoke  again,  and  said: 

“ The  Gospel  speaks  nothing  of  our  works  or  of  the  works 
of  the  law,  but  of  the  inestimable  mercy  and  love  of  God 
toward  most  wretched  and  miserable  sinners.  Our  most 
merciful  Father,  seeing  us  overwhelmed  and  oppressed  with 
the  curse  of  the  law,  and  soT;o  be  holden  under  the  same 
that  we  could  never  be  delivered  from  it  by  our  own  power, 
sent  his  only  Son  into  the  world,  and  laid  upon  him  the 
sins  of  all  men,  saying,  4 Be  thou  Peter,  that  denier;  Paul, 
that  persecutor,  blasphemer,  and  cruel  oppressor;  David, 
that  adulterer;  that  sinner  that  did  eat  the  apple  in  para- 
dise; that  thief  that  hanged  upon  the  cross;  and 
briefly,  be  thou  the  person  that  hath  committed  the 
sins  of  all  men,  and  pay  and  satisfy  for  them.’  For  God 
trifleth  not  with  us,  but  speaketh  earnestly  and  of  great 
love,  that  Christ  is  the  Lamb  of  God  who  beareth  the  sins 
of  us  all.  He  is  just,  and  the  jusfcifier  of  him  that  be- 
lieveth  in  Jesus.” 

I could  answer  nothing  to  this,  but  walked  along  ponder- 
ing these  words.  Neither  did  he  say  any  more  at  that  time. 

The  sun  was  sinking  low,  and  the  long  shadows  of  the 
pino  trunks  were  thrown  athwart  our  green  forest  path,  so 
that  we  were  glad  to  find  a charcoal-burner’s  hut,  and  to 
take  shelter  for  the  night  beside  his  fires. 

But  that  night  I could  not  sleep;  and  when  all  were 
sleeping  around  me,  I rose  and  went  out  into  the  forest. 
Brother  Martin  is  not  a man  to  parade  his  inmost  con- 


TEE  SGE ONB  ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


123 


flicts  before  the  eyes  of  others,  to  call  forth  their  sympathy 
or  their  idle  wonder.  He  has  suffered  too  deeply  and  too 
recently  for  that.  It  is  not  lightly  that  he  has  unlocked 
the  dungeons  and  torture-chambers  of  his  past  life  for  me. 
It  is  as  a fellow-sufferer  and  a fellow-soldier,  to  show  me 
how  I also  may  escape  and  overcome. 

It  is  surely  because  he  is  to  be  a hero  and  a leader  of  men 
that  God  has  caused  him  to  tread  these  bitter  ways  alone. 

A new  meaning  dawns  on  old  words  for  me.  There  is 
nothing  new  in  what  he  says;  but  it  seems  new  to  me,  as  if 
God  had  spoken  it  first  to-day;  and  all  things  seem  made 
new  in  its  light. 

God,  then,  is  more  earnest  for  me  to  be  saved  than  I am 
to  be  saved. 

“He  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his  Son.” 

He  loved  not  saints,  not  penitents,  not  the  religious,  not 
those  who  love  him;  but  the  world,  secular  men,  profane 
men,  hardened  rebels,  hopeless  wanderers,  and  sinners. 

He  gave  not  a promise,  not  an  angel  to  teach  us,  not  a 
world  to  ransom  us,  but  his  Son — his  only-begotten. 

So  much  did  God  love  the  world,  sinners,  me!  I believe 
this;  I must  believe  this;  I believe  on  him  who  says  it. 
How  can  I then  do  otherwise  than  rejoice? 

Two  glorious  visions  rise  before  me  and  fill  the  world  and 
all  my  heart  with  joy. 

I see  the  holiest,  the  perfect,  the  Son  made  the  victim, 
the  lamb,  the  curse,  willingly  yielding  himself  up  to  death 
on  the  cross  for  me. 

I see  the  Father — inflexible  in  justice  yet  delighting  in 
mercy — accepting  him,  the  spotless  Lamb  whom  he  had 
given;  raising  him  from  the.  dead;  setting  him  on  his  right 
hand.  Just,  beyond  all  my  terrified  conscience  could  pic- 
ture him,  he  justifies  me  the  sinner. 

Hating  sin  as  love  must  abhor  selfishness,  and  life  death, 
and  purity  corruption,  he  loves  me — the  selfish,  the  corrupt, 
the  dead  in  sins.  He  gives  his  Son,  the  only-begotten,  for 
me;  he  accepts  his  Son,  the  spotless  Lamb,  for  me;  he  for- 
gives me;  he  acquits  me;  he  will  make  me  pure. 

The  thought  overpowered  me.  I knelt  among  the  pines 
and  spoke  to  Him,  who  hears  when  we  have  no  words,  for 
words  failed  me  altogether  then. 

Munich,  May  18. 

All  the  next  day  and  the  next  that  joy  lasted.  Every 


tU  THE  8GH0NBEE&-00TTA  FAMILY. 

twig,  and  bird,  and  dew-drop  spoke  in  parables  to  me;  sang 
to  me  the  parable  of  the  son  who  had  returned  from  the 
far  country,  and  as  he  went  toward  his  father’s  house  pre- 
pared his  confession;  but  never  finished  the  journey,  for 
the  father  met  him  when  he  was  yet  a great  way  off;  and 
never  finished  the  confession,  for  the  father  stopped  his 
self-reproaches  with  embraces. 

And  on  the  father’s  heart  what  child  could  say,  “Make 
me  as  one  of  thy  hired  servants?” 

I saw  His  love  shining  in  every  dew-drop  on  the  grassy 
forest  glades ; I heard  it  in  the  song  of  every  bird ; I felt  it 
in  every  pulse. 

I do  not  know  that  we  spoke  much  during  those  days, 
Brother  Martin  and  I. 

I have  known  something  of  love;  but  I have  never  felt  a 
love  that  so  fills,  overwhelms,  satisfies,  as  this  love  of  God. 
And  when  first  it  is  “thou  and  I”  between  God  and  the 
soul,  for  a time,  at  least,  the  heart  has  little  room  for  other 
fellowship. 

But  then  came  doubts  and  questionings.  Whence  came 
they?  Brother  Martin  said  from  Satan. 

“The  devil  is  a wretched,  unhappy  spirit,”  said  he,  “and 
he  loves  to  make  us  wretched.” 

One  thing  that  began  to  trouble  me  was,  whether  I had 
the  right  kind  of  faith.  Old  definitions  of  faith  recurred 
to  me,  by  which  faith  is  said  to  be  nothing  unless  it  is  in- 
formed with  charity  and  developed  into  good  works,  so  that 
when  it  saith  we  are  justified  by  faith,  the  part  is  taken  for 
the  whole — and  it  means  by  faith,  also  hope,  charity,  all  the 
graces,  and  all  good  works. 

But  Brother  Martin  declared  itmeaneth  simply  believing. 
He  said : 

“Faith  is  an  almighty  thing,  for  it  giveth  glory  to  God, 
which  is  the  highest  service  that  can  be  given  to  him.’ 
Now,  to  give  glory  to  God,  is  to  believe  in  him;  to  count 
him  true,  wise,  righteous,  merciful,  almighty.  The  chief- 
est  thing  God  requireth  of  man  is,  that  he  giveth  unto  him 
his  glory  and  divinity;  that  is  to  say,  that  he  taketh  him 
not  for  an  idol,  but  for  God;  who  regardeth  him,  heareth 
him,  showeth  mercy  unto  him,  and  helpeth  him-  For 
faith  saith  thus,  ‘I  believe  thee,  oh  God,  when  thou 
speakest.’  ” 

But  our  great  wisdom,  he  says,  is  to  look  away  from  all 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


125 


these  questionings — from  our  sins,  our  works,  ourselves, 
to  Christ,  who  is  our  righteousness,  our  Saviour,  our  all. 

Then  at  times  other  things  perplex  me.  If  faith  is  so 
simple,  and  salvation  so  free,  why  all  those  orders,  rules, 
pilgrimages,  penances? 

And  to  these  perplexities  we  can  neither  of  us  find  any 
answer.  But  we  must  he  obedient  to  the  church.  What 
we  cannot  understand  we  must  receive  and  obey.  This  is 
a monk’s  duty,  at  least. 

Then  at  times  another  temptation  comes  on  me.  “If 
thou  hadst  known  of  this  before,”  a voice  says  deep  in  my 
heart,  “thou  couldst  have  served  God  joyfully  in  thy  house, 
instead  of  painfully  in  the  cloister;  wouldst  have  helped 
thy  parents  and  Else,  and  spoken  with  Eva  on  these  things, 
which  her  devout  and  simple  heart  has  doubtless  received 
already.”  But,  alas!  I know  too  well  what  tempter  ven- 
tures to  suggest  that  name  to  me,  and  I say,  “Whatever 
might  have  been,  malicious  spirit,  now  I am  a religious,  a 
devoted  man,  to  whom  it  is  perdition  to  draw  back!” 

Yet,  in  a sense,  I seem  less  separated  from  my  beloved 
ones  during  these  past  days. 

There  is  a brotherhood,  there  is  a family,  more  perma- 
nent than  the  home  at  Eisenach,  or  even  the  Order  of  St. 
Augustine,  in  which  we  may  be  united  still.  There  is  a 
home  in  which,  perhaps,  we  may  yet  be  one  household. 

And  meantime,  God  may  have  some  little  useful  work  for 
me  to  do  here,  which  in  his  presence  may  make  life  pass  as 
quickly  as  this  my  pilgrimage  to  Borne  in  Brother  Martin’s 
company. 

Benedictine  Monastery  in  Lombardy. 

God  has  given  us  during  these  last  days  to  see,  as  I verily 
believe,  some  glimpses  into  Eden.  The  mountains  with 
snowy  summits,  like  the  white  steps  of  His  throne;  the 
rivers  which  flow  from  them  and  enrich  the  land;  the 
crystal  sea,  like  glass  mingled  with  fire,  where  the  reflected 
snow-peaks  burn  in  the  lakes  at  dawn  or  sunset;  and  then 
this  Lombard  plain,  watered  with  rivers  which  make  its 
harvests  gleam  like  gold;  this  garner  of  God,  where  the 
elms  or  chestnuts  grow  among  the  golden  maize,  and  the 
vines  festoon  the  trees,  so  that  all  the  land  seems  garlanded 
for  a perpetual  holy  day.  We  came  through  the  Tyrol  by 
Fiissen,  and  then  struck  across  by  the  mountains  and  the 
lakes  to  Milan. 


126 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


Now  we  are  entertained  like  princes  in  this  rich  Bene- 
dictine abbey.  Its  annual  income  is  36,000  florins.  “Of 
eating  and  feasting,”  as  Brother  Martin  says,  “there  is  no 
lack;”  for  that  12,000  florins  are  consumed  on  guests,  and 
as  large  a sum  on  building.  The  residue  goes  to  the  con- 
vent and  the  brethren. 

They  have  received  us  poor  German  monks  with  much 
honor,  as  a deputation  from  the  great  Augustinian  order 
to  the  pope. 

The  manners  of  these  southern  people  are  very  gentle  and 
courteous;  but  they  are  lighter  in  their  treatment  of  sacred 
things  than  we  could  wish. 

The  splendor  of  the  furniture  and  dress  amazes  us;  it  is 
difficult  to  reconcile  it  with  the  vows  of  poverty  and  renun- 
ciation of  the  world.  But  I suppose  they  regard  the  vow 
of  poverty  as  binding  not  on  the  community,  but  only  on 
the  individual  monk.  It  must,  however,  at  the  best,  be 
hard  to  live  a severe  and  ascetic  life  amid  such  luxuries. 
Many,  no  doubt,  do  not  try. 

The  tables  are  supplied  with  the  most  costly  and  delicate 
viands;  the  walls  are  tapestried;  the  dresses  are  of  fine  silk; 
the  floors  are  inlaid  with  rich  marbles. 

Poor,  poor  splendors,  as  substitutes  for  the  humblest 
home! 

Bologna,  June. 

We  did  not  remain  long  in  the  Benedictine  monastery, 
for  this  reason:  Brother  Martin,  I could  see,  had  been 
much  perplexed  by  their  luxurious  living;  but  as  a guest, 
had,  I suppose,  scarcely  felt  at  liberty  to  remonstrate  until 
Friday  came,  when,  to  our  amazement,  the  table  was  cov- 
ered with  meats  and  fruits,  and  all  kinds  of  viands,  as  on 
any  other  day,  regardless  not  only  of  the  rules  of  the  order, 
but  of  the  common  laivs  of  the  whole  church. 

He  would  touch  none  of  these  dainties;  but  not  content 
with  this  silent  protest,  he  boldly  said  before  the  whole 
company,  “The  church  and  the  pope  forbid  such  things.” 

We  had  then  an  opportunity  of  seeing  into  what  the 
smoothness  of  these  Italian  manners  can  change  when 
ruffled. 

The  whole  brotherhood  burst  into  a storm  of  indignation. 
Their  dark  eyes  flashed,  their  white  teeth  gleamed  with 
scornful  and  angry  laughter,  and  their  voices  rose  in  a tern- 


THE  SCHON  BERG-COTTA  FAMILY.  127 

pest  of  vehement  words,  many  of  which  were  unintelligible 
to  us. 

“Intruders,”  “barbarians,”  “coarse  and  ignorant  Ger- 
mans,” and  other  biting  epithets,  however,  we  could  too 
well  understand. 

Brother  Martin  stood  like  a rock  amid  the  torrent,  and 
threatened  to  make  their  luxury  and  disorder  known  at 
Rome. 

When  the  assembly  broke  up  we  noticed  the  brethren 
gather  apart  in  small  groups,  and  cast  scowling  glances  at 
us  when  we  chanced  to  pass  near. 

That  evening  the  porter  of  the  monastery  came  to  us 
privately,  and  warned  us  that  this  convent  was  no  longer  a 
safe  resting-place  for  us. 

Whether  this  was  a friendly  warning,  or  merely  a device 
of  the  brethren  to  get  rid  of  troublesome  guests,  I know 
not;  but  we  had  no  wish  to  linger,  and  before  the  next 
day  dawned  we  crept  in  the  darkness  out  of  a side  gate  into 
a boat,  which  we  found  on  the  river  which  flows  beneath 
the  walls,  and  escaped. 

It  was  delightful  to-day  winding  along  the  side  of  a hill, 
near  Bologna,  for  miles,  under  the  flickering  shade  of  trel- 
lises, covered  with  vines.  But  Brother  Martin,  I thought, 
looked  ill  and  weary. 

Bologna. 

Thank  God,  Brother  Martin  is  reviving  again.  He  has 
been  on  the  very  borders  of  the  grave. 

Whether  it  was  the  scorching  heat  through  which  we 
have  been  traveling,  or  the  malaria,  which  affected  us  with 
catarrh  one  night  when  we  slept  with  our  windows  open,  or 
whether  the  angry  monks  in  the  Benedictine  abbey  mixed 
some  poison  with  our  food,  I know  not,  but  we  had  scarcely 
reached  this  place  when  he  became  seriously  ill. 

As  I watched  beside  him  I learned  something  of  the  an- 
guish he  passed  through  at  our  convent  at  Erfrut.  The 
remembrance  of  his  sins,  and  the  terrors  of  God’s  judg- 
ment rushed  on  his  mind,  weakened  by  suffering.  At 
times  he  recognized  that  it  was  the  hand  of  the  evil  one 
which  was  keeping  him  down.  “ The  devil,”  he  would  say, 
“is  the  accuser  of  the  brethren,  not  Christ.  Thou,  Lord 
Jesus,  art  my  forgiving  Saviour!”  And  then  he  would  rise 
abov$  the  floods.  Again  his  mind  would  bewilder  itself 


128 


THE  SCIIONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


with  the  unfathomable — the  origin  of  evil,  the  relation  of 
our  free  will  to  God’s  almighty  will. 

Then  I ventured  to  recall  to  him  the  words  of  Dr.  Stau- 
pitz  he  had  repeated  to  me:  “ Behold  the  wounds  of  Jesus 
Christ,  and  then  thou  shalt  see  the  counsel  of  God  clearly 
shining  forth.  We  cannot  comprehend  God  out  of  Jesus 
Christ.  In  Christ  you  will  find  what  God  is,  and  what  he 
requires.  You  will  find  him  nowhere  else,  whether  in 
heaven  or  on  earth.” 

It  was  strange  to  find  myself,  untried  recruit  that  I am, 
thus  attempting  to  give  refreshment  to  such  a veteran  and 
victor  as  Brother  Martin;  but  when  the  strongest  are 
brought  into  single  combats  such  as  these,  which  must  be 
single,  a feeble  hand  may  bring  a draught  of  cold  water  to 
revive  the  hero  between  the  pauses  of  the  fight. 

The  victory,  however,  can  only  be  won  by  the  combatant 
himself;  and  at  length  Brother  Martin  fought  his  way 
through  once  more,  and  as  so  often,  just  when  the  fight 
seemed  hottest.  It  was  with  an  old  weapon  he  overcame — 
“ The  just  shall  live  by  faith.” 

Once  more  the  words  which  have  helped  him  so  often, 
which  so  frequently  he  has  repeated  on  his  journey,  came 
with  power  to  his  mind.  Again  he  looked  to  the  crucified 
Saviour,  again  he  believed  in  Him  triumphant  and  ready  to 
forgive  on  the  throne  of  grace;  and  again  his  spirit  was  in 
the  light. 

His  strength  also  soon  began  to  return;  and  in  a few 
days  we  are  to  be  in  Borne. 

Bome. 

The  pilgrimage  is  over.  The  holy  city  is  at  length 
reached. 

Across  burning  plains,  under  trellised  vine  walks  on  the 
hillsides,  over  wild,  craggy  mountains,  through  valleys 
green  with  chestnuts  and  olives  and  thickets  of  myrtle,  and 
fragrant  with  lavender  and  cistus,  we  walked,  until  at  last 
the  sacred  towers  and  domes  burst  on  our  sight,  across  a 
reach  of  the  Campagna;  the  city  where  St.  Paul  and  St. 
Peter  were  martyred,  the  metropolis  of  the  kingdom  of 
God. 

The  moment  wre  came  in  sight  of  the  city  Brother  Mar- 
tin prostrated  himself  on  the  earth,  and  lifting  up  his  hands 
to  heaven,  exclaimed: 


THE  SGHONBERO-CO TTA  FAMILY . 


129 

“Hail,  sacred  Eome!  thrice  sacred  for  the  blood  of  the 
martyrs  here  shed.” 

And  now  we  are  within  the  sacred  walls,  lodged  in  the 
Angustinian  monastery,  near  to  the  northern  gate,  through 
which  we  entered,  called  by  the  Eomans  the  “ Porta  del 
Popolo.” 

Already  Brother  Martin  has  celebrated  a mass  in  the 
convent  church. 

And  to-morrow  we  may  kneel  where  apostles  and  mar- 
tyrs stood ! 

We  may  perhaps  even  see  the  holy  father  himself. 

Are  we  indeed  nearer  heaven  here? 

It  seems  to  me  as  if  I felt  God  nearer  that  night  in  the 
Black  Forest. 

There  is  so  much  tumult  and  movement  and  pomp 
around  us  in  the  great  city. 

When,  however,  I feel  it  more  familiar  and  home-like 
perhaps  it  will  seem  more  heaven-like. 


PAET  IX. 
else’s  story. 

Eisexach,  April. 

The  last  words  I shall  write  in  our  dear  old  lumber- 
room,  Fritz’s  and  mine!  I have  little  to  regret  in  it  now, 
however,  that  our  twilight  talks  are  over  forever.  We 
leave  early  to-morrow  morning  for  Wittenberg.  It  is 
strange  to  look  out  into  the  old  street  and  think  how  all 
will  look  exactly  the  same  there  to-morrow  evening,  the 
monks  slowly  pacing  along  in  pairs,  the  boys  rushing  out 
of  school  as  they  are  now,  the  maid-servants  standing  at  the 
doors  with  the  babes  in  their  arms,  or  wringing  their  mops 
— and  we  gone.  How  small  a blank  people  seem  to  make 
when  they  are  gone,  however  large  the  space  they  seemed 
to  fill  when  they  were  present — except,  indeed,  to  two  or 
three  hearts!  I see  this  with  Fritz.  It  seemed  to  me  our 
little  world  must  fall  when  he,  its  chief  pillar,  was  with- 
drawn. Yet  now  everything  seems  to  go  on  the  same  as 
before  he  became  a monk — except,  indeed,  with  the  mother 
and  Eva,  and  me. 

The  mother  seems  more  and  more  like  a shadow  gliding 
in  and  out  among  us.  Tenderly,  indeed,  she  takes  on  her 


130  the  sohonbeug-cotta  famil  y ; 

all  she  can  of  our  family  cares;  but  to  family  joys  she  seems 
spiritless  and  dead.  Since  she  told  me  of  the  inclination 
she  thinks  she  neglected  in  her  youth  toward  the  cloister, 
I understand  her  better,  the  trembling  fear  with  which  she 
receives  any  good  thing,  and  the  hopeless  submission,  with 
which  she  bows  to  every  trouble  as  to  the  blows  of  a rod 
always  suspended  over  her,  and  only  occasionally  merci- 
fully withheld  from  striking. 

In  the  loss  of  Fritz  the  blow  has  fallen  exactly  where  she 
would  feel  it  most  keenly.  She  had,  I feel  sure,  planned 
another  life  for  him.  I see  it  in  the  peculiar  tenderness  of 
the  tie  which  binds  her  to  Eva.  She  said  to  me  to-day,  as 
we  were,  packing  up  some  of  Fritz’s  books,  “The  sacrifice 
I was  too  selfish  to  make  myself,  my  son  has  made  for  me. 
Oh,  Else,  my  child,  give  at  once,  at  once  whatever  God  de- 
mands of  you.  What  He  demands  must  be  given  at  last, 
and  if  only  wrung  out  from  us  at  last,  God  only  knows  with 
what  fearful  interest  the  debt  may  have  to  be  paid.” 

The  words  weigh  on  me  like  a curse.  I cannot  help 
feeling  sometimes,  as  I' know  she  feels  always,  that  the 
family  is  under  some  fatal  spell. 

But  oh,  how  terrible  the  thought  is  that  this  is  the  way 
God  exacts  retribution!  A creditor,  exacting  to  the  last 
farthing  for  the  most  trifling  transaction,  and  if  payment 
is  delayed,  taking  life  or  limb  or  what  is  dearer  in  exchange ! 
I cannot  bear  to  think  of  it.  For  if  my  mother  is  thus 
visited  for  a mistake,  for  neglecting  a doubtful  vocation, 
my  pious,  sweet  mother,  what  hope  is  there  for  me,  who 
scarcely  pass  a day  without  having  to  repent  of  saying  some 
sharp  word  to  those  boys  (who  certainly  are  often  very 
provoking),  or  doing  what  I ought  not,  or  omitting  some 
religious  duty,  or  at  least  without  envying  some  one  who  is 
richer,  or  inwardly  murmuring  at  our  lot — even  sometimes 
thinking  bitter  thoughts  of  our  father  and  his  discoveries! 

Our  dear  father  has  at  last  arranged  and  fitted  in  all  his 
treasures,  and  is  the  only  one,  except  the  children,  who 
seems  thoroughly  pleased  at  the  thought  of  our  emigration. 
All  day  he  has  been  packing  and  unpacking  and  repacking 
his  machines  into  some  especially  safe  corners  of  the  great 
wagon  which  Cousin  Conrad  Cotta  has  lent  us  for  our 
journey. 

Eva,  on  the  other  hand,  seems  to  belong  to  this  world  as 
little  as  the  mother.  Not  that  she  looks  depressed  or  hope- 


TEE  SCUONB EHG-CO TTA  FAMILY . 


131 


less.  Her  face  often  perfectly  beams  with  peace;  but  it 
seems  entirely  independent  of  everything  here,  and  is 
neither  ruffled  by  the  difficulties  we  encounter  nor  enhanced 
when  anything  goes  a little  better.  I must  confess  it  rather 
provokes  me,  almost  as  much  as  the  boys  do.  I have  seri- 
ous fears  that  one  day  she  will  leave  us,  like  Fritz,  and  take 
refuge  in  a convent.  And  yet  I am  sure  I have  not  a fault 
to  find  with  her.  I suppose  that  is  exactly  what  oar 
grandmother  and  I feel  so  provoking.  Lately,  she  has 
abandoned  all  her  Latin  books  for  a German  book  entitled 
“Theologia  Teutsch,’'  or  “ Theologia  Germanica,”  which 
Fritz  sent  us  before  he  left  the  Erfurt  convent  on  his  pil- 
grimage to  Rome.  This  book  seems  to  make  Eva  very 
happy;  but  as  to  me,  it  appears  to  me  more  unintelligible 
than  Latin.  Although  it  is  quite  different  from  all  the 
other  religious  books  I ever  read,  it  does  not  suit  me  any 
better.  Indeed,  it  seems  as  if  I never  should,  find  the  kind 
of  religion  that  would  suit  me.  It  all  seems  so  sublime 
and  vague,  and  so  far  out  of  my  reach;  only  fit  for  people 
who  have  time  to  climb  the  heights;  while  my  path  seems 
to  lie  in  the  valleys,  and  among  the  streets,  and  amid  all 
kinds  of  little  everyday  secular  duties  and  cares,  which 
religion  is  too  lofty  to  notice. 

I can  only  hope  that  some  day  at  the  end  of  my  life  God 
will  graciously  give  me  a little  leisure  to  be  religious  and  to 
prepare  to  meet  Him,  or  that  Eva’s  and  Fritz’s  prayers  and 
merits  will  avail  for  me. 

Wittenberg,  May,  1510. 

We  are  beginning  to  get  settled  into  our  new  home, 
which  is  in  the  street  near  the  university  buildings.  Mar- 
tin Luther,  or  Brother  Martin,  has  a great  name  here. 
They  say  his  lectures  are  more  popular  than  any  one’s. 
And  he  also  frequently  preaches  in  the  city  church.  Our 
grandmother  is  not  pleased  with  the  change.  She  calls  the 
town  a wretched  mud  village,  and  wonders  what  can  have 
induced  the  electors  of  Saxony  to  fix  their  residence  and 
found  a university  in  such  a sandy  desert  as  this.  She  sup- 
poses it  is  very  much  like  the  deserts  of  Arabia. 

But  Christopher  and  I think  differently.  There  are 
several  very  fine  buildings  here,  beautiful  churches,  and 
the  university,  and  the  castle,  and  the  Augusfcinian  mon- 
astery; and  we  have  no  doubt  that  in  time  the  rest  of  the 


132 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


town  will  grow  up  to  them.  I have  heard  our  grandmother 
say  that  babies  with  features  too  large  for  their  faces  often 
prove  the  handsomest  people  when  they  grow  up  to  their 
features.  And  so,  no  doubt,  it  will  be  with  Wittenberg, 
which  is  at  present  certainly  rather  like  an  infant  with  the 
eyes  and  nose  of  a full-grown  man.  The  mud  walls  and 
low  cottages  with  thatched  roofs  look  strangely  out  of 
keeping  with  the  new  buildings,  the  elector’s  palace  and 
church  at  the  western  end,  the  city  church  in  the  center, 
and  the  Augustinian  cloister  and  university  at  the  eastern 
extremity,  near  the  Elster  gate,  close  to  which  wTe  live. 

It  is  true  that  there  are  no  forests  of  pines,  and  wild  hills, 
and  lovely  green  valleys  here,  as  around  Eisenach.  But  our 
grandmother  need  not  call  it  a wilderness.  The  white 
sand-hills  on  the  north  are  broken  with  little  dells  and 
copses;  and  on  the  south,  not  two  hundred  rods  from  the 
town,  across  a heath,  flows  the  broad,  rapid  Elbe. 

The  great  river  is  a delight  to  me.  It  leads  one’s 
thoughts  back  to  its  quiet  sources  among  the  mountains, 
and  onward  to  its  home  in  the  great  sea.  We  had  no  great 
river  at  Eisenach,  which  is  an  advantage  on  the  side  of 
Wittenberg.  And  then  the  banks^are  fringed  with  low 
oaks  and  willows,  which  bend  affectionately  over  the  water, 
and  are  delightful  to  sit  among  on  summer  evenings. 

If  I were  not  a little  afraid  of  the  people!  The  father 
does  not  like  Eva  and  me  to  go  out  alone.  The  students 
are  rather  wild.  This  year,  however,  they  have  been  for- 
bidden by  the  rector  to  carry  arms,  which  is  some  comfort. 
But  the  townspeople  also  are  warlike  and  turbulent,  and 
drink  a great  deal  of  beer.  There  are  one  hundred  and 
seventy  breweries  in  the  place,  although  there  are  not  more 
than  three  hundred  and  fifty  houses.  Few  of  the  inhabi- 
tants send  their  children  to  school,  although  there  are  five 
hundred  students  from  all  parts  of  Germany  at  the 
university. 

Some  of  the  poorer  people,  who  come  from  the  country 
around  to  the  markets,  talk  a language  I cannot  understand. 
Our  grandmother  says  they  are  Wends,  and  that  this  town 
is  the  last  place  on  the  borders  of  the  civilized  world. 
Beyond  it,  she  declares,  there  are  nothing  but  barbarians 
and  Tartars.  Indeed,  she  is  not  sure  whether  our  neighbors 
themselves  are  Christians. 

St.  Boniface,  the  great  apostle  of  the  Saxons,  did  not 


THE  SGEONB EBG-GO TTA  FAMILY.  133 

extend  his  labors  further  than  Saxony;  and  she  says  the 
Teutonic  knights  who  conquered  Prussia  and  the  regions 
beyond  us,  were  only  Christian  colonists  living  in  the  midst 
of  half-heathen  savages.  To  me  it  is  rather  a gloomy  idea, 
to  think  that  between  Wittenberg  and  the  Turks  and  Tar- 
tars, or  even  the  savages  in  the  Indies  beyond,  which 
Christopher  Columbus  has  discovered,  there  are  only  a few 
half-civilized  Wends,  living  in  those  wretched  hamlets 
which  dot  the  sandy  heaths  around  the  town. 

But  the  father  says  it  is  a glorious  idea,  and  that,  if  he 
were  only  a little  younger,  he  would  organize  a land  expe- 
dition,' and  traverse  the  country  until  he  reached  the  Span- 
iards and  the  Portuguese,  who  sailed  to  the  same  point  by 
sea. 

“Only  to  think,”  he  says,  “that  in  a few  weeks,  or 
months  at  the  utmost,  we  might  reach  Cathay,  El  Dorado, 
and  even  Atlantis  itself,  where  the  houses  are  roofed  and 
paved  with  gold,  and  return  laden  with  treasures!”  It 
seems  to  make  him  feel  even  his  experiments  with  the  re- 
torts and  crucibles  in  which  he  is  always  on  the  point  of 
transmuting  lead  into  silver,  to  be  tame  and  slow  processes. 
Since  we  have  been  here,  he  has  for  the  time  abandoned  his 
alchemical  experiments,  and  sits  for  hours  with  a great 
map  spread  before  him,  calculating  in  the  most  accurate 
and  elaborate  manner  how  long  it  would  take  to  reach  the 
new  Spanish  discoveries  by  way  of  Wendish  Prussia. 
“For,”  he  remarks,  “if  I am  never  able  to  carry  out  the 
scheme  myself,  it  may  one  day  immortalize  one  of  my  sons, 
and  enrich  and  ennoble  the  whole  of  our  family !” 

Our  journey  from  Eisenach  was  one  continual  fete  to  the 
children.  For  my  mother  and  the  baby — now  two  years 
old — we  made  a couch  in  the  wagon,  of  the  family  bedding. 
My  grandmother  sat  erect  in  a nook  among  the  furniture. 
Little  Thekla  was  enthroned  like  a queen  on  a pile  of  pil- 
lows, where  she  sat  hugging  her  own  especial  treasures, 
her  broken  doll,  the  wooden  horse  Christopher  made  for 
her,  a precious  store  of  cones  and  pebbles  from  the  forest, 
and  a very  shaggy,  disreputable  foundling  dog  which  she 
has  adopted,  and  can  by  no  means  be  persuaded  to  part 
with.  She  calls  the  dog  Nix,  and  is  sure  that  he  is  always 
asking  her  with  his  wistful  eyes  to  teach  him  to  speak,  and 
give  him  a soul.  With  these,  her  households  gods,  pre- 
served to  her,  she  showed  little  feeling  at  parting  from  the 
rest  of  our  Eisenach  world. 


134 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


The  father  was  equally  absorbed  with  his  treasures,  his 
folios,  and  models,  and  instruments,  which  he  jealously 
guarded. 

Eva  had  but  one  inseparable  treasure,  the  volume  of  the 
“ Theologia  Germanica,”  which  she  had  appropriated. 

The  mother’s  especial  thought  was  the  baby.  Chriem- 
hild  was  overwhelmed  with  the  parting  with  Pollux,  who 
was  left  behind  with  Cousin  Conrad  Cotta;  and  Atlantis 
was  so  wild  with  delight  at  the  thought  of  the  new  world 
and  the  new  life,  from  which  she  was  persuaded  ail  the 
cares  of  the  old  were  to  be  extracted  forever,  that,  had  it 
not  been  for  Christopher  and  me,  I must  say  the  general 
interests  of  the  family  would  have  been  rather  in  the  back- 
ground. 

For  the  time  there  was  a truce  between  Christopher  and 
me  concerning  “Keinecke  Fuchs,”  and  our  various  differ- 
ences. All  his  faculties — which  have  been  so  prolific  for 
mischief — seemed  suddenly  turned  into  useful  channels, 
like  the  mischievous  elves  of  the  farm  and  hearth,  when 
they  are  capriciously  bent  on  doing  some  poor  human  being 
a good  turn.  He  scarcely  tried  my  temper  once  during  the 
whole  journey.  Since  we  reached  Wittenberg,  however, 
I cannot  say  as  much.  I feel  anxious  about  the  compan- 
ions he  has  found  among  the  students,  and  often,  often  I 
long  that  Fritz’s  religion  had  led  him  to  remain  among  us, 
at  least  until  the  boys  had  grown  up. 

I had  nerved  myself  beforehand  for  the  leave-taking  with 
the  old  friends  and  the  old  home,  but  when  the  moving 
actually  began,  there  was  no  time  to  think  of  anything  but 
packing  in  the  last  things  which  had  been  nearly  forgotten, 
and  arranging  every  one  in  their  places.  I had  not  even  a 
moment  for  a last  look  at  the  old  house,  for  at  the  instant 
we  turned  the  corner,  Thekla  and  her  treasures  nearly  came 
to  an  untimely  end  by  the  downfall  of  one  of  the  father’s 
machines;  which  so  discouraged  Thekla,  and  excited  our 
grandmother,  Nix,  and  the  baby,  that  it  required  consider- 
able soothing  to  restore  every  one  to  equanimity;  and,  in 
the  meantime,  the  corner  of  the  street  had  been  turned,  and 
the  dear  old  house  was  out  of  sight.  I felt  a pang,  as  if  I 
had  wronged  it,  the  old  home  which  had  sheltered  us  so 
many  years,  and  been  the  silent  witness  of  so  many  joys 
and  cares,  and  sorrows! 

We  had  few  adventures  during  the  first  day,  except  that 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY.  135 

Thekla’s  peace  was  often  broken  by  the  difficulties  in  which 
Nix’s  self-confident  but  not  very  courageous  disposition 
frequently  involved  him  with  the  cats  and  dogs  in  the  vil- 
lage, and  their  proprietors. 

The  first  evening  in  the  forest  was  delightful.  We  en- 
camped in  a clearing.  Sticks  were  gathered  for  a fire, 
round  which  we  arranged  such  bedding  and  furniture  as  we 
could  unpack,  and  the  children  were  wild  with  delight  at 
thus  combining  serious  household  work  with  play,  while 
Christopher  foddered  and  tethered  the  horses. 

After  our  meal  we  began  to  tell  stories,  but  our  grand- 
mother positively  forbade  our  mentioning  the  name  of  any 
of  the  forest  sprites,  or  of  any  evil  or  questionable  creature 
whatever. 

In  the  night  I could  not  sleep.  All  was  so  strange  and 
grand  around  us,  and  it  did  seem  to  me  that  there  were 
wailings  and  sighings  and  distant  moanings  among  the 
pines,  not  quite  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  wind.  I grew 
rather  uneasy,  and  at  length  lifted  my  head  to  see  if  any 
one  else  was  awake. 

- Opposite  me  sat  Eva,  her  face  lifted  to  the  stars,  her 
hands  clasped,  and  her  lips  moving  as  if  in  prayer.  I felt 
her  like  a guardian  angel,  and  instinctively  drew  nearer  to 
her. 

“Eva,”  I whispered  at  last,  “do  you  not  think  there  are 
rather  strange  and  unaccountable  noises  around  us?  I 
wonder  if  it  can  be  true  that  strange  creatures  haunt  the 
forests.  ” 

“ I think  there  are  always  spirits  around  us,  Cousin  Else,” 
she  replied,  “good  and  evil  spirits  prowling  around  us,  or 
ministering  to  us.  I suppose  in  the  solitude  we  feel  them 
nearer,  and  perhaps  they  are.” 

I was  not  at  all  reassured. 

“Eva,”  I said,  “I  wish  you  would  say  some  prayers;  I 
feel  afraid  I may  not  think  of  the  right  ones.  But  are  you 
really  not  at  all  afraid?” 

“Why  should  I be?”  she  said  softly;  “God  is  nearer  us 
always  than  all  the  spirits,  good  or  evil,  nearer  and  greater 
than  all.  And  he  is  the  Supreme  Goodness.  I like  the  sol- 
itude, Cousin  Else,  because  it  seems  to  lift  me  above  all  the 
creatures  to  the  One  who  is  all  and  in  all.  And  I like  the 
wild  forests,”  she  continued,  as  if  to  herself,  “ because  God  is 
the  only  owner  there,  and  I can  feel  more  unreservedly, 


136 


THE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY . 


that  we,  and  the  creatures,  and  all  we  most  call  our  own, 
are  his,  and  only  his.  In  the  cities,  the  houses  are  called 
after  the  names  of  men,  and  each  street  and  house  is  divided 
into  little  plots,  of  each  of  which  some  one  says,  ‘It  is 
mine.’  But  here  all  is  visibly  only  God’s,  undivided, 
common  to  all.  There  is  but  one  table,  and  that  is  his; 
the  creatures  live  as  free  pensioners  on  his  bounty.” 

“Is  it  then  sin  to  call  anything  our  own?”  I asked. 

“My  book  says  it  was  this  selfishness  that  was  the  cause 
of  Adam’s  fall,”  she  replied.  “Some  say  it  was  because 
Adam  ate  the  apple  that  he  was  lost,  or  fell;  but  my  book 
says  it  was  ‘because  of  his  claiming  something  for  his  own; 
and  because  of  his  saying,  I,  mine,  me,  and  the  like.’  ” 
That  is  very  difficult  to  understand.  I said,  “Am  I not 
to  say,  my  mother,  my  father,  my  Fritz?  Ought  I to  love 
every  one  the  same  because  all  are  equally  God’s?  If 
property  is  sin,  then  why  is  stealing  sin?  Eva,  this  reli- 
gion is  quite  above'and  beyond  me.  It  seems  to  me  in  this 
way  it  would  be  almost  as  wrong  to  give  thanks  for  what 
we  have,  as  to  covet  what  we  have  not,  because  we  ought 
not  to  think  we  have  anything.  It  perplexes  me  extremely.” 
I lay  down  again,  resolved  not  to  think  any  more  about 
it.  Fritz  and  I proved  once,  a long  time  ago,  how  useless 
it  is  for  me,  at  least,  to  attempt  to  get  beyond  the  ten  com- 
mandments. But  trying  to  comprehend  what  Eva  said  so 
bewildered  me,  that  my  thoughts  soon  wandered  beyond  my 
control  altogether.  I heard  no  more  of  Eva  or  the  winds, 
but  fell  into  a sound  slumber,  and  dreamed  that  Eva  and  an 
angel  were  talking  beside  me  all  night  in  Latin,  which  I 
felt  I ought  to  understand,  but  of  course  could  not. 

The  next  day,  we  had  not  been  long  on  our  journey, 
when,  at  a narrow  part  of  the  road,  in  a deep  valley,  a 
company  of  horsemen  suddenly  dashed  down  from  a castle 
which  towered  on  our  right,  and  barred  our  further  progress 
with  serried  lances. 

“Do  you  belong  to  Erfurt?”  asked  the  leader,  turning 
our  horses’  heads,  and  pushing  Christopher  aside  with  the 
butt  end  of  his  gun. 

“No,”  said  Christopher,  “to  Eisenach.” 

“Give  way,  men,”  shouted  the  knight  to  his  followers, 
“we  have  no  quarrel  with  Eisenach.  This  is  not  what  we 
are  waiting  for.” 

The  cavaliers  made  a passage  for  us,  but  a young  knight, 
who  seemed  to  lead  them,  rode  on  beside  us  for  a time. 


THE  SGHONBEJIG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


137 


“Did  you  pass  any  merchandise  on  your  road?”  he  asked 
ox*  Christopher,  using  the  form  of  address  he  would  have  to 
a peasant. 

“We  are  not  likely  to  pass  anything,”  replied  Christo- 
pher, not  very  courteously,  “laden  as  we  are.” 

“ What  is  your  lading?”  asked  the  knight. 

“All  our  worldly  goods,”  replied  Christopher,  curtly. 

“ What  is  your  name,  friend,  and  where  are  you  bound?” 
“Cotta,”  answered  Christopher.  “My  father  is  the 
director  of  the  elector’s  printing  press  at  the  new  Univer- 
sity of  Wittenberg.” 

“Cotta!”  rejoined  the  knight  more  respectfully,  “a  good 
burgher  name;”  and  saying  this  he  rode  back  to  the  wagon 
and  saluting  our  father,  surveyed  us  all  with  a cool  free- 
dom, as  if  his  notice  honored  us,  until  his  eye  lighted  on 
Eva,  who  was  sitting  with  her  arm  round  Thekla,  soothing 
the  frightened  child,  and  helping  her  to  arrange  some 
violets  Christopher  had  gathered  a few  minutes  before. 
His  voice  lowered  when  he  saw  her,  and  he  said: 

“This  is  no  burgher  maiden,  surely?  May  I ask  your 
name,  fair  fraiilein?”  he  said,  doffing  his  hat,  and  address- 
ing Eva. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  continued  arranging  her  flowers, 
without  changing  feature  or  color,  except  that  her  lip 
curled  and  quivered  slightly. 

“The  fraiilein  is  absorbed  with  her  bouquet;  would  that 
we  were  nearer  our  schloss,  that  I might  offer  her  flowers 
more  worthy  of  her  handling.” 

“Are  you  addressing  me?”  said  Eva  at  length,  raising 
her  large  eyes,  and  fixing  them  on  him  with  her  gravest 
expression;  “I  am  no  fraiilein,  I am  a burgher  maiden; 
but  if  I were  a queen,  any  of  God’s  flowers  would  be  fair 
enough  for  me.  And  to  a true  knight,”  she  added,  “a 
peasant  maiden  is  as  sacred  as  a queen.” 

No  one  ever  could  trifle  with  that  earnest  expression  of 
Eva’s  face.  It  was  his  turn  to  be  abashed.  His  effrontery 
failed  him  altogether,  and  he  murmured,  “I  have  merited 
the  rebuke.  These  flowers  are  too  fair,  at  least  for  me.  If 
you  would  bestow  one  on  me,  I would  keep  it  sacredly  as  a 
gift  of  my  mother’s,  or  as  the  relics  of  a saint.” 

“ You  can  gather  them  anywhere  in  the  forest,”  said  Eva; 
but  little  Thekla  filled  both  her  little  hands  with  violets, 
and  gave  them  to  him. 


138 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY. 


“You  may  have  them  all  if  you  like,”  she  said;  “Chris- 
topher can  gather  us  plenty  more.” 

He  took  them  carefully  from  the  child’s  hand,  and, 
bowing  low,  rejoined  his  men  who  were  in  front.  He  then 
returned,  said  a few  words  to  Christopher,  and  with  his 
troop  retired  to  some  distance  behind  us,  and  followed  us 
till  we  were  close  to  Erfurt,  when  he  spurred  on  to  my 
father’s  side,  and  saying  rapidly,  “You  will  be  safe  now, 
and  need  no  further  convoy,”  once  more  bowed  respectfully 
to  us,  and  rejoining  his  men,  we  soon  lost  the  echo  of  their 
horse-hoofs,  as  they  galloped  back  through  the  forest. 

“ What  did  the  knight  say  to  you,  Christopher?”  I asked, 
when  we  dismounted  at  Erfurt  that  evening. 

“He  said  that  part  of  the  forest  was  dangerous  at  pres- 
ent, because  of  a feud  between  the  knights  and  the 
burghers,  and  if  we  would  allow  him,  he  would  be  our  es- 
cort until  we  came  in  sight  of  Erfurt.” 

“That,  at  least,  was  courteous  of  him,”  I said. 

“Such  courtesy  as  a burgher  may  expect  of  a knight,” 
rejoined  Christopher,  uncompromisingly;  “to  insult  us 
without  provocation,  and  then,  as  a favor,  exempt  us  from 
their  own  illegal  oppressions!  But  women  are  always  fas- 
cinated with  what  men  on  horseback  do.” 

“No  one  is  fascinated  with  any  one,”  I replied.  For  it 
always  provokes  me  exceedingly  when  that  boy  talks  in 
that  way  about  women.  And  our  grandmother  interposed, 
“Don’t  dispute,  children;  if  your  grandfather  had  not  been 
unfortunate,  you  would  have  been  of  the  knights’  order 
yourselves,  therefore  it  is  not  for  you  to  run  down  the 
nobles.” 

“I  should  never  have  been  a knight,”  persisted  Christo- 
pher, “or  a priest,  or  a robber.”  But  it  was  consolatory  to 
my  grandmother  and  me  to  consider  how  exalted  our 
position  would  have  been,  had  it  not  been  for  certain  little 
unfortunate  hindrances.  Our  grandmother  never  admitted 
my  father  into  the  pedigree. 

At  Leipsic  we  left  the  children,  while  our  grandmother, 
our  mother,  Eva,  and  I went  on  foot  to  see  Aunt  Agnes  at 
the  convent  of  Nimptschen,  whither  she  had  been  trans- 
ferred, some  years  before,  from  Eisenach. 

We  only  saw  her  through  the  convent  grating.  But  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  the  voice,  and  manner,  and  face  were 
entirely  unchanged  since  that  last  interview  when  she  terri- 


THE  SGIIONBEUG-CO TTA  FAMILY . 139 

fied  me  as  a child  by  asking  me  to  become  a sister,  and 
abandon  Fritz. 

Only  the  voice  sounded  to  me  even  more  like  a muffled 
bell  used  only  for  funerals,  especially  when  she  said,  in 
reference  to  Fritz’s  entering  the  cloister,  “ Praise  to  God, 
and  the  blessed  Virgin,  and  all  the  saints.  At  last,  then, 
He  has  heard  my  unworthy  prayers;  one  at  last  is  saved!” 

A cold  shudder  passed  over  me  at  her  words.  Had  she 
then,  indeed,  all  these  years  been  praying  that  our  happi- 
ness should  be  ruined  and  our  home  desolated?  And  had 
God  heard  her?  Was  the  fatal  spell,  which  my  mother 
feared  was  binding  us,  after  all  nothing  else  ttian^Aunt 
Agnes’  terrible  prayers? 

Her  face  looked  as  lifeless  as  ever,  in  the  folds  of  white 
linen  which  bound  it  into  a regular  oval.  Her  voice  was 
metallic  and  lifeless;  the  touch  of  her  hand  was  impassive 
and  cold  as  marble  when  we  took  leave  of  her.  My  mother 
wept,  and  said,  “Dear  Agnes,  perhaps  we  may  never  meet 
again  on  earth.” 

“Perhaps  not,”  was  the  reply. 

“You  will  not  forget  us,  sister?”  said  my  mother. 

“I  never  forget  you,”  was  the  reply,  in  the  same  deep, 
low,  firm,  irresponsive  voice,  which  seemed  as  if  it  had  never 
vibrated  to  anything  more  human  than  an  organ  playing 
Gregorian  chants. 

And  the  words  echo  in  my  heart  to  this  instant,  like  a 
knell. 

She  never  forgets  us. 

Nightly  in  her  vigils,  daily  in  church  and  cell,  she 
watches  over  us,  and  prays  God  not  to  let  us  be  too  happy. 

And  God  hears  her,  and  grants  her  prayers.  It  is  too 
clear  he  does.  Had  she  not  been  asking  him  to  make  Fritz 
a monk?  and  is  not  Fritz  separated  from  us  forever? 

“How  did  you  like  the  convent,  Eva?”  I said  to  her  that 
night  when  we  were  alone. 

“It  seemed  very  still  and  peaceful,”  she  said.  “I  think 
one  could  be  very  happy  there.  There  would  be  so  much 
time  for  prayer.  One  could  perhaps  more  easily  lose  self 
there,  and  become  nearer  to  God.” 

“But  what  did  you  think  of  Aunt  Agnes?” 

“I  felt  drawn  to  her.  I think  she  has  suffered.” 

“She  seems  to  me  dead  alike  to  joy  or  suffering,”  I said. 

“But  people  do  not  thus  die  without  pain,”  said  Eva 
very  gravely. 


140 


THE  BCIIONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


Our  house  at  Wittenberg  is  small.  From  the  upper 
windows  we  look  over  the  city  walls,  across  the  heath,  to 
the  Elbe,  which  gleams  and  sparkles  between  its  willows 
and  dwarf  oaks.  Behind  the  house  is  a plot  of  neglected 
ground,  which  Christopher  is  busy  at  his  leisure  hours 
trenching  and  spading  into  an  herb-garden.  We  are  to 
have  a few  flowers  on  the  borders  of  the  straight  walk  which 
intersects  it,  daffodils,  pansies,  roses,  and  sweet  violets, 
and  gilliflowers,  and  wallflowers.  At  the  end  of  the  garden 
are  two  apple  trees  and  a pear  tree,  which  had  shed  their 
blossoms  just  before  we  arrived,  in  a carpet  of  pink  and 
white  petals.  Under  the  shade  of  these  I carry  my  em- 
broidery frame,  when  the  housework  is  finished;  and 
sometimes  ‘little  Thekla  comes  and  prattles  to  me,  and 
sometimes  Eva  reads  and  sings  to  me.  I cannot  help  re- 
gretting that  lately  Eva  is  so  absorbed  with  that  “ Theolo- 
gia  Germanica.”  I cannot  understand  it  as  well  as  I do 
the  Latin  hymns  when  once  she  has  translated  them  to  me; 
for  these  speak  of  Jesus  the  Saviour,  who  left  the  heavenly 
home  and  sat  weary  by  the  way  seeking  for  us;  or  of  Mary, 
his  dear  mother;  and  although  sometimes  they  tell  of  wrath 
and  judgment,  at  'all  events  I know  what  it  means.  But 
this  other  book  is  all  to  me  one  dazzling  haze,  without  sun, 
or  moon,  or  stars,  or  heaven,  or  earth,  or  seas,  or  anything 
distinct,  but  all  a blaze  of  indistinguishable  glory,  which  is 
God ; the  One  who  is  all — a kind  of  ocean  of  goodness,  in 
which,  in  some  mysterious  way,  we  ought  to  be  absorbed. 
But  I am  not  an  ocean,  or  any  part  of  one;  and  I cannot 
love  an  ocean,  because  it  is  infinite,  or  unfathomable,  or 
all-sufficient,  or  anything  else. 

My  mother’s  thought  of  God,  as  watching'lest  we  should 
be  too  happy  and  love  any  one  more  than  himself,  remem- 
bering the  mistakes  and  sins  of  youth,  and  delaying  to 
punish  them  until  just  the  moment  when  the  punishment 
would  be  most  keenly  felt,  is  dfeadful  enough.  But  even 
that  is  not  to  me  so  bewildering  and  dreary  as  this  all- 
absorbing  Being  in  Eva’s  book.  The  God  my  mother 
dreads  has  indeed  eyes  of  severest  justice,  and  a frown  of 
wrath  against  the  sinner;  but  if  once  one  could  learn  how 
to  pledRe  him,  the  eyes  might  smile,  the  frown  might  pass. 
It  is  a countenance,  and  a heart  which  would  meet  ours. 
But  when  Eva  reads  her  book  to  me,  I seem  to  look  up  into 
heaven  and  see  nothing  but  heaven — light,  space,  infinity. 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


141 


and  still  on  and  on,  infinity  and  light ;rfa  moral  light,  in- 
deed— perfection,  purity,  goodness;  but  no  eyes  I can  look 
into,  no  heart  to  meet  mine — none  whom  I could  speak  to, 
or  touch,  or  see. 

This  evening  we  opened  our  window  and  looked  out 
across  the  heath  to  the  Elbe. 

The  town  was  quite  hushed.  The  space  of  sky  above  us 
over  the  plain  looked  so  large  and  deep.  We  seemed  to  see 
range  after  range  of  stars  beyond  each  other  in  the  clear 
air.  The  only  sound*  was  the  distant,  steady  rush  of  the 
broad  river,  which  gleamed  here  and  there  in  the  starlight. 

Eva  was  looking  up  with  her  calm,  bright  look. 
“Thine!”  she  murmured,  “all  this  is  Thine;  and  we  are 
Thine,  and  Thou  art  here!  How  much  happier  it  is  to  be 
able  to  look  up  and  feel  there  is  no  barrier  of  our  own  poor 
ownership  between  us  and  Him,  the  possessor  of  heaven 
and  earth ! How  much  poorer  we  should  be  if  we  were 
lords  of  this  land,  like  the  elector,  and  if  we  said,  ‘ All  this 
is  mine!’  and  so  saw  only  I and  mine  in  it  all,  instead  of 
God  and  God’s!” 

“ Yes,”  I said,  “if  we  ended  in  saying  I and  mine;  but  I 
should  be  very  thankful  if  God  gave  me  a little  more  out  of 
his  abundance,  to  use  for  our  wants.  And  yet,  how  much 
better  things  are  with  us  than  they  were;  the  appointment 
of  my  father  as  director  of  the  elector’s  printing  establish- 
ment, instead  of  a precarious  struggle  for  ourselves;  and 
this  embroidery  of  mine!  It  seems  to  me,  Eva,  sometimes, 
we  might  be  a happy  family  yet.” 

“My  book,”  she  replied  thoughtfully,  “says  we  shall 
never  be  truly  satisfied  in  God,  or  truly  free,  unless  all 
things  are  one  to  us,  and  One  is  all,  and  something  and 
nothing  are  alike.  I suppose  I am  not  quite  truly  free, 
Cousin  Else,  for  I cannot  like  this  place  quite  as  much  as 
the  old  Eisenach  home.” 

I began  to  feel  quite  impatient,  and  I said,  “Nor  can  I 
or  any  of  us  ever  feel  any  home  quite  the  same  again,  since 
Fritz  is  gone.  But  as  to  feeling  something  and  nothing 
are  alike,  I never  can,  and  I will  never  try.  One  might  as 
well  be  dead  at  once.” 

“Yes,”  said  Eva  gravely;  “I  suppose  we  shall  never 
comprehend  it  quite,  or  be  quite  satisfied  and  free,  until  we 
die.” 


142 


TEE  SGEONB  ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


We  talked  no  more  that  night;  hut  I heard  her  singing 
one  of  her  favorite  hymns:* 

In  the  fount  of  life  perennial  the  parched  heart  its  thirst  would  slake, 
And  the  soul,  in  flesh  imprisoned,  longs  her  prison-walls  to  break — 
Exile,  seeking,  sighing,  yearning  in  her  Fatherland  to  wake. 

When  with  cares  oppressed  and  sorrows,  only  groans  her  grief  can 
tell, 

Then  she  contemplates  the  glory  which  she  lost  when  first  she  fell: 
Memory  of  the  vanished  good  the  present  evil  can  but  swell. 

Who  can  utter  what  the  pleasures  and  the  peace  unbroken  are 
Where  arise  the  pearly  mansions,  shedding  silvery  light  afar — 
Festive  seats  and  golden  roofs,  which  glitter  like  the  evening  star? 

Wholly  of  fair  stones  most  precious  are  those  radiant  structures  made; 
With  pure  gold,  like  glass  transparent,  are  those  shining  streets  in- 
laid; 

Nothing  that  defiles  can  enter,  nothing  that  can  soil  or  fade. 

Stormy  winter,  burning  summer,  rage  within  these  regions  never; 
But  perpetual  bloom  of  roses,  and  unfading  spring  forever; 

Lilies  gleam,  the  crocus  glows,  and  dropping  balms  their  scents 
deliver; 

Honey  pure,  and  greenest  pastures — this  the  land  of  promise  is: 
Liquid  odors  soft  distilling,  perfumes  breathing  on  the  breeze; 

Fruits  immortal  cluster  always  on  the  leafy,  fadeless  trees. 

There  no  moon  shines  chill  and  changing,  there  no  stars  with  twin- 
kling ray, 

For  the  lamb  of  that  blest  city  is  at  once  the  sun  and  day; 

Night  and  time  are  known  no  longer — day  shall  never  fade  away. 

There  the  saints,  like  suns,  are  radiant — like  the  sun  at  dawn  they 
glow; 

Crowned  Victors  after  conflict,  all  their  joys  together  flow; 

And,  secure,  they  count  the  battles  where  they  fought  the  prostrate 
foe. 

Every  stain  of  flesh  is  cleansed,  every  strife  is  left  behind; 

Spiritual  are  their  bodies — perfect  unity  of  mind; 

Dwelling  in  deep  peace  forever,  no  offense  or  grief  they  find. 


* Ad  perennis  vitae  fontem  mens  sitivit  arida, 

Claustra  carnis  praesto  frangi  clausa  quaerit  anima, 
Gliscit,  ambit,  electatur,  exul  frui  patria. 
etc  , etc.,  etc. 

The  translation  only  is  given  above. 


THE  SCH ONE  Ell  G~CO  TTA  FAMILY.  143 

Putting  off  tlieir  mortal  vesture,  in  tlieir  source  tlieir  souls  tliey 
steep — 

Truth  by  actual  vision  learning,  on  its  form  their  gaze  they  keep — 
Drinking  from  the  living  fountain  draughts  of  living  waters  deep. 

Time,  with  all  its  alternations,  enters  not  those  hosts  among — 
Glorious,  wakeful,  blest,  no  shade  of  chance  or  change  o’er  them  is 
flung; 

Sickness  cannot  touch  the  deathless,  nor  old  age  the  ever  young. 

There  their  being  is  eternal — things  that  cease  have  ceased  to  be; 

All  corruption  there  has  perished — there  they  flourish  strong  and 
free; 

Thus  mortality  is  swallowed  up  of  life  eternally. 

Naught  from  them  is  hidden — knowing  Him  to  whom  all  things  are 
known, 

All  the  spirit’s  deep  recesses,  sinless,  to  each  other  shown — 

Unity  of  will  and  purpose,  heart  and  mind  forever  one. 

Diverse  as  their  varied  labors  the  rewards  to  each  that  fall; 

But  Love,  what  she  loves  in  others  evermore  her  own  doth  call: 

Thus  the  several  joy  of  each  becomes  the  common  joy  of  all. 

Where  the  body  is,  there  ever  are  the  eagles  gathered ; 

For  the  saints  and  for  the  angels  one  most  blessed  feast  is  spread — 
Citizens  of  either  country  living  on  the  selfsame  bread. 

Ever  filled  and  eve,r  seeking,  what  they  have  they  still  desire; 
Hunger  there  shall  fret  them  never,  nor  satiety  shall  tire — 

Still  enjoying  while  aspiring,  in  their  joy  they  still  aspire. 

There  the  new  song,  new  forever,  those  melodious  voices  sing, 
Ceaseless  streams  of  fullest  music  through  those  blessed  regions  ring, 
Crowned  victors  ever  bringing  praises  worthy  of  the  King! 

Blessed  who  the  King  of  Heaven  in  his  beauty  thus  behold, 

And,  beneath  his  throne  rejoicing,  see  the  universe  unfold — 

Sun  and  moon,  and  stars  and  planets,  radiant  in  his  light  unrolled. 

Christ,  the  palm  of  faithful  victors!  of  that  city  make  me  free; 

When  my  warfare  shall  be  ended,  to  its  mansions  lead  thou  me; 
Grant  me,  with  its  happy  inmates,  sharer  of  thy  gifts  to  be! 

Let  thy  soldier,  still  contending,  still  be  with  thy  strength  supplied; 
Thop  wilt  not  deny  the  quiet  when  the  arms  are  laid  aside; 

Make  me  meet  with  thee  forever  in  that  country  to  abide! 


144 


THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Passion  Week. 

Wittenberg  has  been  very  full  this  week.  There  have 
been  great-  mystery-plays  in  the  city  church;  and  in  the 
electoral  church  ( Schloss  Kir  die)  all  the  relics  have  been 
solemnly  exhibited.  Crowds  of  pilgrims  have  come  from 
all  the  neighboring  villages,  Wendish  and  Saxon.  It  has 
been  very  unpleasant  to  go  about  the  streets,  so  much  beer 
has  been  consumed;  and  the  students  and  peasants  have 
had  frequent  encounters.  It  is  certainly  a comfort  that 
there  are  large  indulgences  to  be  obtained  by  visiting  the 
relics,  for  the  pilgrims  seem  to  need  a great  deal  of  indul- 
gence. 

The  sacred  mystery-plays  were  very  magnificent.  The 
Judas  was  wonderfully  hateful — hunchbacked,  and  dressed 
like  a rich  Jewish  miser;  and  the  devils  were  dreadful 
enough  to  terrify  the  children  for  a year.  Little  Thekla 
was  dressed  in  white,  with  gauze  wings,  and  made  a lovely 
angel — and  enjoyed  it  very  much.  They  wanted  Eva  to 
represent  one  of  the  holy  women  at  the  cross,  but  she  would 
not.  Indeed  she  nearly  wept  at  the  thought,  and  did  not 
seem  to  like  the  whole  ceremony  at  all.  “It  all  really  hap- 
pened!” she  said;  “they  really  crucified  Him!  And  He  is 
risen,  and  living  in  heaven;  and  I cannot  bear  to  see  it  per- 
formed like  a fable.”  /' 

The  second  day  there  was  certainly  more  jesting  and 
satire  than  I liked.  Christopher  said  it  reminded  him  of 
“Reinecke  Fuchs.” 

In  the  middle  of  the  second  day  we  missed  Eva,  and 
when  in  a few  hours  I came  back  to  the  house  to  seek  her, 
I found  her  kneeling  by  our  bedside,  sobbing  as  if  her 
heart  would  break.  I drew  her  toward  me,  but  I could  not 
discover  that  anything  at  all  was  the  matter,  except  that 
the  young  knight  who  had  stopped  us  in  the  forest  had 
bowed  very  respectfully  to  her,  and  had  shown  her  a few 
dried  violets,  which  he  said  he  should  always  keep  in  re- 
membrance of  her  and  her  words. 

It  did  not  seem  to  me  so  unpardonable  an  offense,  and  I 
said  so. 

“He  had  no  right  to  keep  anything  for  my  sake,”  she 
sobbed.  “No  one  will  ever  have  any  right  to  keep  any- 
thing for  my  sake;  and  if  Fritz  had  been  here,  he  would 
never  have  allowed  it.” 

“Little  Eva,”  I said,  “what  has  become  of  your  ‘Theo- 


THE  8CH0NB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


145 


logia  Teutsch?’  Your  book  says  you  are  to  take  all  things 
meekly,  and  be  indifferent,  I suppose,  alike  to  admiration 
or  reproach.” 

“Cousin  Else,”  said  Eva  very  gravely,  rising  and  stand- 
ing erect  before  me  with  clasped  hands,  “ I have  not  learned 
the  ‘Theologia’  through  well  yet,  but  I mean  to  try.  The 
world  seems  to  me  very  evil,' and  very  sad.  And  there 
seems  no  place  in  it  for  an  orphan  girl  like  me.  There  is 
no  rest  except  in  being  a wife  or  a nun.  A wife  I shall 
never  be,  and  therefore,  dear,  dear  Else,”  she  continued, 
kneeling  down  again,  and  throwing  her  arms  around  me, 
“I  have  just  decided — I will  go  to  the  convent  where  Aunt 
Agnes  is,  and  be  a nun.” 

I did  not  attempt  to  remonstrate;  but  the  next  day  I 
told  the  mother,  who  said  gravely,  “She  will  be  happier 
there,  poor  child!  We  must  let  her  go.” 

But  she  became  pale  as  death,  her  lip  quivered,  and  she 
added,  “Yes,  God  must  have  the  choicest  of  all.  It  is  in 
vain  indeed  to  fight  against  him.”  Then  fearing  she  might 
have  wounded  me,  she  kissed  me  and  said,  “Since  Fritz 
left,  she  has  grown  so  very  dear;  but  how  can  I murmur 
when  my  loving  Else  is  spared  to  us?” 

“Mother,”  I said,  “do  you  think  Aunt  Agnes  has  been 
praying  again  for  this?” 

“Probably,”  she  replied,  with  a startled  look.  “She  did 
look  very  earnestly  at  Eva.” 

“Then,  mother,”  I replied,  “I  shall  write  to  Aunt  Agnes 
at  once,  to  tell  her  that  she  is  not  to  make  any  such  pray- 
ers for  you  or  for  me.  For,  as  to  me,  it  is  entirely  useless. 
And  if  you  were  to  imitate  St.  Elizabeth,  and  leave  us,  it 
would  break  alPour  hearts,  and  the  family  would  go  to  ruin 
altogether.” 

“ What  are  you  thinking  of,  Else?”  replied  my  mother 
meekly.  “It  is  too  late  indeed  for  me  to  think  of  being  a 
saint.  I can  never  hope  for  anything  beyond  this,  that 
God  in  his  great  mercy  may  one  day  pardon  me  my  sins, 
and  receive  me  as  the  lowest  of  his  creatures,  for  the  sake 
of  his  dear  Son  who  died  upon  the  cross.  What  could  you 
mean  by  my  imitating  St.  Elizabeth?” 

I felt  reassured,  and  did  not  pursue  the  subject,  fearing 
it  might  suggest  what  I dreaded  to  my  mother, 


146 


THE  SOHO NB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


Wittenberg,  June  14. 

And  so  Eva  and  Fritz  are  gone,  the  two  religious  ones 
of  the  family.  They  are  gone  into  their  separate  convents, 
to  be  made  saints,  and  have  left  us  all  to  struggle  on  in  the 
world  without  them — with  all  that  helped  us  to  be  less 
earthly  taken  from  us.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  a lovely  pic- 
ture of  the  holy  mother  had  been  removed  from  the  dwell- 
ing-room since  Eva  has  gone,  and  instead  we  had  nothing 
left  but  family  portraits,  and  paintings  of  common  earthly 
tilings;  or  as  if  a window  opening  toward  the  stars  had 
been  covered  by  a low  ceiling.  She  was  always  like  a little 
bit  of  heaven  among  us. 

I miss  her  in  our  little  room  at  night.  Her  prayers 
seemed  to  hallow  it.  I miss  her  sweet,  holy  songs  at  my 
embroidery;  and  now  I have  nothing  to  turn  my  thoughts 
from  the  arrangements  for  to-morrow,  and  the  troubles  of 
yesterday,  and  the  perplexities  of  to-day.  I had  no  idea 
how  I must  have  been  leaning  on  her.  She  always  seemed 
so  childlike,  and  so  above  my  petty  cares — and  in  practical 
things  I certainly  understood  much  more;  and  yet,  in  some 
way,  whenever  I talked  anything  over  with  her,  it  always 
seemed  to  take  the  burden  away,  to  change  cares  into 
duties,  and  clear  my  thoughts  wonderfully,  just  by  lighten- 
ing my  heart.  It  was  not  that  she  suggested  what  to  do; 
but  she  made  me  feel  things  were  working  for  good,' not  for 
harm — that  God  in  some  way  ordered  them  and  then  the 
right  thoughts  seemed  to  come  to  me  naturally. 

Our  mother,  I am  afraid,  grieves  as  much  as  she  did  for 
Fritz;  but  she  tries  to  hide  it,  lest  we  should  feel  her  un- 
grateful for  the  love  of  her  children. 

I have  a terrible  dread  sometimes  that  Aunt  Agnes  will 
get  her  prayers  answered  about  our  precious  mother  also,  if 
not  in  one  way,  in  another.  She  looks  so  pale  and 
spiritless. 

June  20. 

Christopher  has  just  returned  from  taking  Eva  to  the 
convent.  He  says  she  shed  many  tears  when  he  left  her; 
which  is  a comfort.  I could  not  bear  to  think  that  some- 
thing and  nothing  were  alike  to  her  yet.  He  told  me  also 
one  thing,  which  has  made  me  rather  anxious.  On  the 
journey,  Eva  begged  him  to  take  care  of  our  father’s  sight, 
which,  she  said,  she  thought  had  been  failing  a little  lately. 


THE  8GE ON  BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


147 


And  just  before  they  separated  she  brought  him  a little  jar 
of  distilled  eye-water,  which  the  nuns  were  skillful  in  mak- 
ing, and  sent  it  to  our  father  with  Sister  Aye’s  love. 

Certainly  my  father  has  read  less  lately;  and  now  I think 
of  it,  he  has  asked  me  once  or  twice  to  find  things  for  him, 
and  to  help  him  about  his  models,  in  a way  he  never  used 
to  do. 

It  is  strange  that  Eva,  with  those  deep,  earnest,  quiet 
eyes,  which  seemed  to  look  about  so  little,  always  saw  be- 
fore any  of  us  what  every  one  wanted.  Darling  child ! she 
will  remember  us,  then,  and  our  little  cares.  And  she  will 
have  some  eye-water  to  make,  which  will  be  much  better 
for  her  than  reading  all  day  in  that  melancholy  “ Theologia 
Teutsch.” 

But  are  we  to  call  our  Eva,  Ave?  She  gave  these  lines 
of  the  hymn  in  her  own  writing  to  Christopher,  to  bring  to 
me.  She  often  used  to  sing  it,  and  has  explained  the 
words  to  me: 

“ Ave,  maris  Stella 
Dei  mater  alma 
Atque  semper  virgo 
Felix  coeli  porta. 

“ Siemens  Mud  Ave 
Gabrielis  ore 
Funda  nos  in  pace 
Mutans  nomen  Evoe.  ” 

It  is  not  an  uncommon  name,  I know,  with  nuns. 

Well,  dearly  as  I loved  the  old  name,  I cannot  complain 
of  the  change.  Sister  Ave  will  be  as  dear  to  me  as  Cousin 
Eva,  only  a little  bit  further  off,  and  nearer  heaven. 

Her  living  so  near  heaven,  while  she  was  with  us,  never 
seemed  to  make  her  further  off,  but  nearer  to  us  all. 

Now,  however,  it  cannot,  of  course,  be  the  same. 

Our  grandmother  remains  steadfast  to  the  baptismal 
name. 

“Beceiving  that  Ave  from  the  lips  of  Gabriel,  the  blessed 
mother  transformed  the  name  of  our  poor  mother  Eva.” 
And  now  our  child  Eva  is  on  her  way  to  become  Saint  Ave 
—God’s  angel  Ave  in  heaven. 

June  30. 

The  young  knight  we  met  in  the  forest  has  called  at  our 
house  to-day. 


148 


TEE  SCEONBEEG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


I could  scarcely  command  my  voice  at  first  to  tell  him 
where  our  Eva  is,  because  I cannot  help  partly  blaming 
him  for  her  leaving  us  at  last. 

“At  Nimptschoi!”  he  said;  “then  she  was  noble,  after 
all.  None  but  maidens  of  noble  houses  are  admitted  there.” 

“Yes,”  I said,  “our  mother’s  family  is  noble.” 

“She  was  too  heavenly  for  this  world,”  he  murmured. 
“Her  face,  and  something  in  her  words  and  tones,  have 
haunted  me  like  a holy  vision,  or  a church  hymn,  ever  since 
I saw  her.” 

I could  not  feel  as  indignant  with  the  young  knight  as 
Eva  did.  And  he  seemed  so  interested  in  our  father’s 
models,  that  we  could  not  refuse  him  permission  to  come 
and  see  us  again. 

Yes,  our  Eva  was,  I suppose,  as  he  says,  too  religious  and 
too  heavenly  for  this  world. 

Only,  as  so  many  of  us  have,  after  all,  to  live  in  the 
world,  unless  the  world  is  to  come  to  an  end  altogether,  it 
would  be  a great  blessing  if  God  had  made  a religion  for  us 
poor,  secular  people,  as  well  as  one  for  the  monks  and  nuns. 


PAET  X. 
fritz’s  story. 

v Eome,  Augustinian  Convent. 

Holy  as  this  city  necessarily  must  be,  consecrated  by 
relics  of  the  church’s  most  holy  dead,  consecrated  by  the 
presence  of  her  living  head,  I scarcely  think  religion  is  as 
deep  in  the  hearts  of  these  Italians  as  of  our  poor  Germans 
in  the  cold  north. 

But  I may  mistake;  feeling  of  all  kinds  manifests  itself 
in  such  different  ways  with  different  characters. 

Certainly  the  churches  are  thronged  on  all  great  occasions, 
and  the  festas  are  brilliant.  But  the  people  seem  rather  to 
regard  them  as  holidays  and  dramatic  entertainments,  than 
as  the  solemn  and  sacred  festivals  we  consider  them  in 
Saxony.  This  morning,  for  instance,  I heard  two  women 
criticising  a procession  in  words  such  .as  these,  as  far  as  the 
little  Italian  I have  picked  up  enabled  me  to  understand 
them: 

“Ah,  Nina  mia,  the  angels  are  nothing  to-day;  you 


THE  SCHONBEUG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


149 


should  have  seen  our  Lucia  last  year!  Every  one  said  she 
was  heavenly.  If  the  priests  do  not  arrange  it  better,  peo- 
ple will  scarcely  care  to  attend.  Besides,  the  music  was 
execrable.” 

“ Ah,  the  nuns  of  the  Cistercian  convent  understand  how 
to  manage  a ceremony.  They  have  ideas.  Did  you  see 
their  Bambino  last  Christmas?  Such  lace!  and  the  cradle 
of  tortoise-shell,  fit  for  an  emperor,  as  it  should  be!  And 
then  their  robes  for  the  Madonna  on  their  fetes!  Cloth  of 
gold  embroidered  with  pearls  and  brilliants  worth  a 
treasury !” 

“ Yes,”  replied  the  other,  lowering  her  voice,  “I  have 
been  told  the  history  of  those  robes.  A certain  lady  who 
was  powerful  at  the  late  holy  father’s  court,  is  said  to  have 
presented  the  dress  in  which  she  appeared  on  some  state 
occasion  to  the  nuns,  just  as  she  wore  it.” 

“Did  she  become  a penitent,  then?” 

“A  penitent?  I do  not  know;  such  an  act  of  penitence 
would  purchase  indulgences  and  masses  to  last  at  least  for 
some  time.” 

Brother  Martin  and  I do  not  so  much  affect  these  gor^ 
geous  processsions.  These  Italians,  with  their  glorious 
skies  and  the  rich  coloring  of  their  beautiful  land,  require 
more  splendor  in  their  religion  than  our  German  eyes  can 
easily  gaze  on  undazzled. 

It  rather  perplexed  us  to  see  the  magnificent  caparisons 
of  the  horses  of  the  cardinals;  and  more  especially  to  behold 
the  holy  father  sitting  on  a fair  palfrey,  bearing  the  sacred 
host.  In  Germany,  the  loftiest  earthly  dignity  prostrates 
itself  low  before  that  ineffable  presence. 

But  my  mind  becomes  confused.  Heaven  forbid  that  I 
should  call  the  vicar  of  Christ  an  earthly  dignitary!  Is  he 
not  the  representative  and  oracle  of  God  on  earth? 

For  this  reason — no  doubt  in  painful  contradiction  to  the 
reverent  awe  natural  to  every  Christian  before  the  holy 
sacrament — the  holy  father  submits  to  sitting  enthroned  in 
the  church,  and  receiving  the  body  of  our  Creator  through 
a golden  tube  presented  to  him  by  a kneeling  cardinal. 

It  must  be  very  difficult  for  him  to  separate  between  the 
office  and  the  person.  It  is  difficult  enough  for  us.  But 
for  the  human  spirit  not  yet  made  perfect  to  receive  these 
religious  honors  must  be  overwhelming. 

Doubtless,  at  night,  when  the  holy  father  humbles  him- 


150 


THE  8CE0NB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


self  in  solitude  before  God,  his  self-abasement  is  as  much 
deeper  than  that  of  ordinary  Christians  as  his  exaltation  is 
greater. 

I must  donfess  that  it  is  an  inexpressible  relief  to  me  to 
retire  to  the  solitude  of  my  cell  at  night,  and  pray  to  Him 
of  whom  Brother  Martin  and  I spoke  in  the  Black  Forest; 
to  whom  the  homage  of  the  universe  is  no  burden,  because 
it  is  not  mere  prostration  before  an  office,  but  adoration  of 
a person.  “Holy,  holy,  holy,  Lord  God  Almighty:  heaven 
and  earth  are  full  of  thy  glory.” 

Holiness — to  which  almightiness  is  but  an  attribute — 
Holy  One,  who  hast  loved  and  given  thine  Holy  One  for  a 
sinful  world,  miserere  nobis . 

Rome,  July. 

We  have  diligently  visited  all  the  holy  relics,  and  offered 
prayers  at  every  altar  at  which  especial  indulgences  are  pro- 
cured, for  ourselves  and  others. 

Brother  Martin  once  said  he  could  almost  wish  his  father 
and  mother  (whom  he  dearly  loves)  were  dead,  that  he 
might  avail  himself  of  the  privileges  of  this  holy  city  to 
deliver  their  souls  from  purgatory. 

He  says  masses  whenever  he  can.  But  the  Italian  priests 
are  often  impatient  with  him  because  he  recites  the  office 
so  slowly.  I heard  one  of  them  say,  contemptuously,  he 
had  accomplished  thirty  masses  while  Brother  Martin  only 
finished  one.  And  more  than  once  they  hurry  him  for- 
ward, saying  “ Passa!  passa!” 

There  is  a strange  disappointment  in  these  ceremonies  to 
me,  and,  I think,  often  to  him.  I seem  to  expect  so  much 
more,  not  more  pomp,  of  that  there  is  abundance;  but 
when  the  ceremony  begins,  to  which  all  the  pomp  of  music, 
and  processions  of  cavaliers,  and  richly  robed  priests,  and 
costly  shrines,  are  mere  preliminary  accessories,  it  seems 
often  so  poor.  The  kernel  inside  all  this  gorgeous  shell 
seems  to  the  eye  of  sense  like  a little  poor  withered  dust.  < 
To  the  eye  of  sense!  Yes,  I forget.  These  are  the 
splendors  of  faith,  which  faith  only  can  uphold. 

To-day  we  gazed  on  the  Veronica,  the  holy  impression 
left  by  our  Saviour’s  face  on  the  cloth  St.  Veronica  pre- 
sented to  him  to  wipe  his  brow,  bowed  under  the  weight  of 
the  cross.  We  had  looked  forward  to  this  sight  for  days, 
for  seven  thousand  years  of  indulgence  from  penance  are 
attached  to  it. 


THE  SCIIOHB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


151 


But  when  the  moment  came,  Brother  Martin  and  I could 
see  nothing  but  a black  board  hung  with  a cloth,  before 
which  another  white  cloth  was  held.  In  a few  minutes 
this  was  withdrawn,  and  the  great  moment  was  over,  the 
glimpse  of  the  sacred  thing  on  which  hung  the  fate  of  seven 
thousand  years.  For  some  time  Brother  Martin  and  I did 
not  speak  of  it.  I feared  there  had  been  some  imperfection 
in  my  looking,  which  might  affect  the  seven  thousand 
years;  but  observing  his  countenance  rather  downcast,  I 
told  him  my  difficulty,  and -found  that  he  also  had  seen 
nothing  but  a white  cloth. 

The  skulls  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  perplexed  us  still 
more,  because  they  had  so  much  the  appearance  of  being 
carved  in  wood.  But  in  the  crowd  we  could  not  approach 
very  close;  and  doubtless  Satan  uses  devices  to  blind  the 
eyes  even  of  the  faithful. 

One  relic  excited  my  amazement  much — the  halter  with 
which  Judas  hanged  himself!  It  could  scarcely  be  termed 
a holy  relic.  I wonder  who  preserved  it,  when  so  many 
other  precious  things  are  lost.  Scarcely  the  apostles;  per- 
haps the  scribes,  out  of  malice. 

The  Romans,  I observe,  seem  to  care  little  for  what  to 
us  is  the  kernel  and  marrow  of  these  ceremonies — the  ex- 
hibition of  the  holy  relics.  They  seem  more  occupied  in 
comparing  the  pomp  of  one  year,  or  of  one  church,  with 
another. 

We  must  not,  I suppose,  measure  the  good  things  do  us 
by  our  own  thoughts  and  feelings,  but  simply  accept  it  on 
the  testimony  of  the  church. 

Otherwise  I might  be  tempted  to  imagine  that  the  relics 
of  pagan  Rome  do  my  spirit  more  good  than  gazing  on  the 
sacred  ashes^or  bones  of  martyrs  or  apostles.  When  I walk 
over  the  heaps  of  shapeless  ruin,  so  many  feet  beneath 
which  lies  buried  the  grandeur  of  the  old  imperial  city;  or 
when  I wander  among  the  broken  arches  of  the  gigantic 
Colosseum,  where  the  martyrs  fought  with  wild  beasts, 
great  thoughts  seem  to  grow  naturally  in  my  mind,  and  I 
feel  how  great  truth  is,  and  how  little  empires  are. 

I see  an  empire  solid  as  this  Colosseum  crumble  into 
ruins  as  undistinguishable  as  the  dust  of  those  streets,  be- 
fore the  word  of  that  once  despised  Jew  of  Tarsus,  “in 
bodily  presence  weak,”  who  was  beheaded  here.  Or,  again, 
in  the  ancient  Pantheon,  when  the  music  of  Christian 


152 


THE  tiCIIONB ERG-GO  1 'TA  FAMILY . 


chants  rises  among  the  shadowy  forms  of  the  old  vanquished 
gods  painted  on  the  walls,  and  the  light  streams  down,  not 
from  painted  windows  in  the  walls,  but  from  the  glowing 
heavens  above,  every  note  of  the  service  echoes  like  a peal 
of  triumph,  and  fills  my  heart  with  thankfulness. 

But  my  happiest  hours  here  are  spent  in  the  church  of 
my  patron,  St.  Sebastian,  without  the  walls,  built  over  the 
ancient  catacombs. 

Countless  martyrs,  they  say,  rest  in  peace  in  these  ancient 
sepulchers.  They  have  not  been  opened  for  centuries;  but 
they  are  believed  to  wind  in  subterranean  passages  far  be- 
neath the  ancient  city.  In  those  dark  depths  the  ancient 
church  took  refuge  from  persecution;  there  she  laid  her 
martyrs;  and  there,  over  their  tombs,  she  chanted  hymns 
of  triumph,  and  held  communion  with  Him  for  whom  they 
died.  In  that  church  I spend  hours.  I have  no  wish  to 
descend  into  those  sacred  sepulchers,  and  pry  among  the 
graves  the  resurrection  trump  will  open  soon  enough.  I 
like  to  think  of  the  holy  dead,  lying  undisturbed  and  quiet 
there;  of  their  spirits  in  paradise;  of  their  faith  trium- 
phant in  the  city  which  massacred  them. 

No  doubt  they  also  had  their  perplexities,  and  wondered 
why  the  wicked  triumph,  and  sighed  to  God,  “IIow  long, 
0 Lord,  how  long?” 

And  yet  I cannot  help  wishing  I had  lived  and  died 
among  them,  and  had  not  been  born  in  times  when  we  see 
Satan  appear,  not  in  his  genuine  hideousness,  but  as  an 
angel  of  light. 

For  of  the  wickedness  that  prevails  in  this  Christian  Borne, 
alas,  who  can  speak!  of  the  shameless  sin,  the  violence,  the 
pride,  the  mockery  of  sacred  things. 

In  the  Colosseum,  in  the  Pantheon,  in  the  church  of  St. 
Sebastian,  I feel  an  atom — but  an  atom  In  a solid,  God- 
governed  world,  where  truth  is  mightiest;  insignificant  in 
myself  as  the  little  mosses  which  flutter  on  these  ancient 
stones;  but  yet  a little  moss  on  a great  rock  which  cannot 
be  shaken — the  rock  of  God’s  providence  and  love.  In  the 
busy  city,  I feel  tossed  hither  and  thither  on  a sea  which 
seems  to  rage  and  heave  at  its  own  wild  will,  without  aim 
or  meaning — a sea  of  human  passion.  Among  the  ruins,  I 
commune  with  the  spirits  of  our  great  and  holy  dead,  who 
live  unto  God.  At  the  exhibition  of  the  sacred  relics,  my 
heart  is  drawn  down  to  the  mere  perishable  dust,  decorated 
with  the  miserable  pomps  of  the  little  men  of  the  day. 


THE  SGHONBERG-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


153 


And  then  I return  to  the  convent  and  reproach  myself 
for  censoriousness,  and  unbelief,  and  pride,  and  try  to  re- 
member that  the  benefits  of  these  ceremonies  and 
exhibitions  are  only  to  be  understood  by  faith,  and  are  not 
not  to  be  judged  by  inward  feeling,  or  even  by  their  moral 
results. 

The  church,  the  holy  father,  solemnly  declare,  that  par- 
dons and  blessings  incalculable,  to  ourselves  and  others, 
flow  from  so  many  paternosters  and  aves  recited  at  certain 
altars,  or  from  seeing  the  Veronica  or  the  other  relics.  I 
have  performed  the  acts,  and  I must  at  my  peril  believe  in 
the  efficacy. 

But  Brother  Martin  and  I are  often  sorely  discouraged 
at  the  wickedness  we  see  and  hear  around  us.  A few  days 
since  he  was  at  a feast  with  several  prelates  and  great  men 
of  the  church,  and  the  fashion  among  them  seemed  to  be 
to  jest  at  all  that  is  most  sacred.  Some  avowed  their  dis- 
belief in  one  portion  of  the  faith,  and  some  in  others;  but 
all  in  a light  and  laughing  way,  as  if  it  mattered  little  to 
any  of  them.  One  present  related  how  they  sometimes 
substituted  the  words  panis  es , et  panis  manebis  in  the 
mass,  instead  of  the  words  of  consecration,  and  then  amused 
themselves  with  watching  the  people  adore  what  was,  after 
all,  no  consecrated  host,  but  a mere  piece  of  bread. 

The  Romans  themselves  we  have  heard  declare,  that  if 
there  be  a hell,  Borne  is  built  over  it.  They  have  a 
couplet : 

“ Vivere  qui  sancte  vultis,  discedite  Roma: 

Omnia  hie  esse  licent,-non  licet  esse  probum.”  * 

Oh  Borne!  in  sacredness  as  Jerusalem,  in  wickedness  as 
Babylon,  how  bitter  is  the  conflict  that  breaks  forth  in  the 
heart  at  seeing  holy  places  and  holy  character  thus  dis- 
joined! How  overwhelming  the  doubts  that  rush  back  on 
the  spirit  again  and  again,  as  to  the  very  existence  of  holi- 
ness or  truth  in  the  universe,  when  we  behold  the  deeds  of 
Satan  prevailing  in  the  very  metropolis  of  the  kingdom  of 
God! 

Rome,  August. 

Mechanically,  we  continue  to  go  through  every  detail 


*[“Ye  who  would  live  holily,  depart  from  Rome:  all  things  are 
allowed  here,  except  to  be  upright.”] 


154  THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMIL  Y. 

of  the  prescribed  round  of  devotions,  believing  against  ex- 
perience, and  hoping  against  hope. 

To-day  Brother  Martin  went  to  accomplish  the  ascent  of 
the  Santa  Scala — the  holy  staircase — which  once,  they  say, 
formed  part  of  Pilate’s  house.  I had  crept  up  the  sacred 
steps  before,  and  stood  watching  him  as,  on  his  knees,  he 
slowly  mounted  step  after  step  of  the  hard  stone,  worn  into 
hollows  by  the  knees  of  penitents  and  pilgrims.  An  indul- 
gence for  a thousand  years — indulgence  from  penance — is 
attached  to  this  act  of  devotion.  Patiently  he  crept  half- 
way up  the  staircase,  when,  to  my  amazement,  he  suddenly 
stood  erect,  lifted  his  face  heavenward,  and,  in  another 
moment,  turned  and  walked  slowly  down  again. 

He  seemed  absorbed  in  thought  when  he  rejoined  me^ 
and  it  was  not  until  some  time  afterward  that  he  told  me 
the  meaning  of  this  sudden  abandonment  of  his  purpose. 

He  stated  that,  as  he  was  toiling  up,  a voice,  as  if  from 
heaven,  seemed  to  whisper  to  him  the  old,  well-known 
words,  which  had  been  his  battle-cry  in  so  many  a victori- 
ous combat,  “ The  j list  shall  live  by  faith.” 

He  seemed  awakened,  as  if  from  a nightmare,  and  re- 
stored to  himself.  He  dared  not  creep  up  another  step; 
but,  rising  from  his  knees,  he  stood  upright,  like  a man 
suddenly  loosed  from  bonds  and  fetters,  and,  with  the  firm 
step  of  a freeman,  he  descended  the  staircase  and  walked 
from  the  place. 

August,  1511. 

To-night  there  has  been  an  assassination.  A corpse 
was  found  near  our  convent  gates,  pierced  with  many 
wounds.  But  no  one  seems  to  think  much  of  it.  Such 
things  are  constantly  occurring,  they  say;  and  the  only  in- 
terest seems  to  be  as  to  the  nature  of  the  quarrel  which  led 
to  it. 

“A  prelate  is  mixed  up  with  it,”  the  monks  whisper; 
“one  of  the  late  pope’s  family.  It  will  not  be  investigated.” 

But  these  crimes  of  passion  seem  to  me  comprehensible 
and  excusable,  compared  with  the  spirit  of  levity  and 
mockery  which  pervades  all  classes.  In  such  acts  of  revenge 
you  see  human  nature  in  ruins;  yet  in  the  ruins  you  can 
trace  something  of  the  ancient  dignity.  But  in  this  jest- 
ing, scornful  spirit,  which  mocks  at  sacredness  in  the 
service  of  God,  at  virtue  in  women,  and  at  truth  and  honor 


THE  SCHONBER G-CO TTA  FAMILY.  155 

in  men,  all  traces  of  God’s  image  seem  crushed  and  trodden 
into  shapeless,  incoherent  dust. 

From  such  thoughts  I often  take  refuge  in  the  Cam- 
pagna,  and  feel  a refreshment  in  its  desolate  spaces,  its 
solitary  wastes,  its  traces  of  material  ruin. 

The  ruins  of  empires  and  of  imperial  edifices  do  not  de- 
press me.  The  immortality  of  the  race  and  of  the  soul  rises 
grandly  in  contrast.  In  the  Campagna  we  see  the  ruins  of 
imperial  Rome;  but  in  Rome  we  see  the  ruin  of  our  race 
and  nature.  And  what  shall  console  us  for  that,  when  the 
presence  of  all  that  Christians  most  venerate  is  powerless 
to  arrest  it? 

Were  it  not  for  some  memories  of  a home  at  Eisenach, 
on  which  I dare  not  dwell  too  much,  it  seems  at  times  as  if 
the  very  thought  of  purity  and  truth  would  fade  from  my 
heart. 

Rome,  August. 

Brother  Martin,  during  the  intervals  of  the  business 
of  his  order,  which  is  slowly  winding  its  way  among  the 
intricacies  of  the  Roman  courts,  is  turning  his  attention  to 
the  study  of  Hebrew,  under  the  Rabbi  Elias  Levita. 

I study  also  with  the  rabbi,  and  have  had  the  great 
benefit,  moreover,  of  hearing  lectures  from  the  Byzantine 
Greek  professor,  Argyropylos. 

Two  altogether  new  worlds  seem  to  open  to  me  through 
these  men,  one  in  the  far  distances  of  time,  and  the  other 
of  space. 

The  rabbi,  one  of  the  race  which  is  a by-word  and  a 
9Corn  among  us  from  boyhood,  to  my  surprise  seems  to 
glory  in  his  nation  and  his  pedigree,  with  a pride  which 
looks  down  on  the  antiquity  of  our  noblest  lineages  as  mush- 
rooms of  a day. 

I had  no  conception  that  underneath  the  misery  and  the 
obsequious  demeanor  of  the  Jews  such  lofty  feelings  existed. 
And  yet,  what  wonder  is  it?  Before  Rome  was  built, 
Jerusalem  was  a sacred  and  royal  city;  and  now  that  the 
empire  and  the  people  of  Rome  have  passed  for  centuries, 
this  nation,  fallen  before  their  prime,  still  exists  to  witness 
their  fall. 

I went  once  to  the  door  of  their  synagogue,  in  the  Ghetto. 
There  were  no  shrines  in  it,  no  altars,  no  visible  symbols 
of  sacred  things,  except  the  roll  of  the  law,  which  was 


156 


THE  SCR'ONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


reverently  taken  on t of  a secret  treasury  and  read  aloud. 
Yet  there  seemed  something  sublime  in  this  symbolizing  of 
the  presence  of  God  only  by  a voice  reading  the  words 
which,  ages  ago,  he  spoke  to  their  prophets  in  the  Holy 
Land. 

“Why  have  you  no  altar?”  I asked  once  of  one  of  the 
rabbis. 

“ Our  altar  can  only  be  raised  where  our  temple  is  built,” 
was  the  reply.  “Our  temple  can  only  rise  in  the  city  and 
on  the  hill  of  our  God.  But,”  he  continued,  in  a low,  bit- 
ter tone,  “when  our  altar  and  temple  are  restored,  it  will 
not  be  to  offer  incense  to  the  painted  image  of  a Hebrew 
maiden.” 

I have  thought  of  the  words  often  since.  But  were  they 
not  blasphemy?  I must  not  dare  recall  them. 

But  those  Greeks!  they  are  Christians,  and  yet  not  of 
our  communion.  As  Argyropylos  speaks,  I understand 
for  the  first  time  that  a church  exists  in  the  East,  as  ancient 
as  the  church  of  western  Europe,  and  as  extensive,  which 
acknowledges  the  holy  trinity  and  the  creeds,  but  owns 
no  allegiance  to  the  holy  father  the  pope. 

The  world  is  much  larger  and  older  than  Else  or  I 
thought  at  Eisenach.  May  not  God’s  kingdom  be  much 
larger  than  some  think  at  Borne? 

In  the  presence  of  monuments  which  date  back  to  days 
before  Christianity,  and  of  men  who  speak  the  language  of 
Moses,  and,  with  slight  variations,  the  language  of  Homer, 
our  Germany  seems  in  its  infancy  indeed.  Would  to  God 
it  were  in  its  infancy,  and  that  a glorious  youth  and  prime 
may  succeed,  when  these  old,  decrepit  nations  are  worn 
out  and  gone! 

Yet  heaven  forbid  that  I should  call  Borne  decrepit — 
Borne,  on  whose  brow  rests,  not  the  perishable  crown  of 
earthly  dominion,  but  the  tiara  of  the  kingdom  of  God. 

September. 

The  mission  which  brought  Brother  Martin  hither  is 
nearly  accomplished.  We  shall  soon — we  may  at  a day’s 
notice — leave  Borne  and  return  to  Germany. 

And  what  have  we  gained  by  our  pilgrimage? 

A store  of  indulgences  beyond  calculation.  And  knowl- 
edge; eyes  opened  to  see  good  and  evil. 

Ennobling  knowledge!  glimpses  into  rich  worlds  of 


THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


157 


human  life  and  thought  which  humble  the  heart  in  ex- 
panding the  mind.  Bitter  knowledge!  illusions  dispelled, 
aspirations  crushed.  We  have  learned  that  the  heart  of 
Christendom  is  a moral  plague-spot;  that  spiritual  privi- 
leges and  moral  goodness  have  no  kind  of  connection,  be- 
cause where  the  former  are  at  the  highest  perfection,  the 
latter  is  at  the  lowest  point  of  degradation. 

We  have  learned  that  on  earth  there  is  hy  place  to  which 
the  heart  can  turn  as  a sanctuary,  if  by  a sanctuary  we 
mean  not  merely  a refuge  from  the  punishment  of  sin,  but 
a place  in  which  to  grow  holy. 

In  one  sense,  Borne  may,  indeed,  be  called  the  sanctuary 
‘of  the  world.  It  seems  as  if  hal?  the  criminals  in  the  world 
had  found  a refuge  here. 

When  I think  of  Borne  in  future  as  a city  of  the  living, 
I shall  think  of  assassination,  treachery,  avarice,  a spirit  of 
universal  mockery,  which  seems  only  the  foam  over  an  abyss 
of  universal  despair;  mockery  of  all  virtue,  based  on  dis- 
belief in  all  truth. 

It  is  only  as  a city  of  the  dead  that  my  heart  will  revert 
to  Borne  as  a holy  place.  SJie  has  indeed  built,  and  built 
beautifully,  the  sepulchers  of  the  prophets. 

Those  hidden  catacombs,  where  the  holy  dead  rest,  far 
under  the  streets  of  the  city,  too  far  for  traffickers  in  sacred 
bones  to  disturb  them,  among  these  the  imagination  can 
rest,  like  these  beatified  ones,  in  peace. 

The  spiritual  life  of  Some  seems  to  be  among  her  dead. 
Among  the  living  all  seems  spiritual  corruption  &nd  death. 

May  God  and  the  saints  have  mercy  on  me  it  I say  what 
is  sinful.  Does  not  the  scum  necessarily  rise  to  the  sur- 
face? Do  not  acts  of  violence  and  words  of  mockery  neces- 
sarily make  more  noise  in  the  world  than  prayers?  How 
do  I know  how  many  humble  hearts  there  are  in  those 
countless  convents  there,  that  secretly  offer  acceptable  in- 
cense to  God,  and  keep  the  perpetual  lamp  of  devotion 
burning  in  the  sight  of  God? 

How  do  I know  what  deeper  and  better  thoughts  lie  hid- 
den under  that  veil  of  levity?  Only  I often  feel  that  if 
God  had  not  made  me  a believer  through  his  word,  by  the 
voice  of  Brother  Martin  in  the  Black  Forest,  Borne  might 
too  easily  have  made  me  an  infidel.  And  it  is  certainly 
true,  that  to  be  a Christian  at  Borne  as  well  as  elsewhere, 
more  than  elsewhere  one  must  breast  the  tide,  and  must 
walk  by  faith,  and  not  by  sight. 


158  the  bchonberg-cofta  family ; 

But  we  have  performed  the  pilgrimage.  We  have  con- 
scientiously visited  all  the  shrines;  we  have  recited  as 
many  as  possible  of  the  privileged  acts  of  devotion,  paters 
and  aves,  at  the  privileged  shrine. 

Great  benefits  must  result  to  us  from  these  things. 

But  benefits  of  what  kind?  Moral?  How  can  that  be? 
When  shall  I efface  from  my  memory  the  polluting  words 
and  works  I have  seen  and  heafd  at  Rome?  Spiritual? 
Scarcely;  if  by  spiritual  we  are  to  understand  a devout 
mind,  joy  in  God,  and  nearness  to  him.  When,  since  that 
night  in  the  Black  Forest,  have  I found  prayer  so  difficult, 
doubts  so  overwhelming,  the  thought  of  God  and  heaven 
so  dim,  as  at  Rome? 

The  benefits,  then,  that  we  have  received,  must  be 
ecclesiastical,  those  that  the  church  promises  and  dispenses. 
And  what  are  these  ecclesiastical  benefits?  Pardon?  But 
is  it  not  written  that  God  gives  this  freely  to  those  who 
believe  on  his  Son?  Peace?  But  is  not  that  the  legacy  of 
the  Saviour  to  all  who  love  him? 

What  then?  Indulgences.  Indulgences  from  what? 
From  the  temporal  consequences  of  sin?  Too  obviously 
not  these.  Do  the  ecclesiastical  indulgences  save  men  from 
disease,  and  sorrow,  and  death?  Is  it,  then,  from  the 
eternal  consequences  of  sin?  Did  not  the  Lamb  of  God, 
dying  for  us  on  the  cross,  bear  our  sins  there,  and  blot 
them  out?  What  then  remains,  which  the  indulgences 
can  deliver  from? 

Penance  and  purgatory.  What  then  are  penance  and 
purgatory?  Has  penance  in  itself  no  curative  effect,  that 
we  can  be  healed  of  our  sins  by  escaping  as  well  as  by  per- 
forming it?  Have  purgatorial  fires  no  purifying  power, 
that  we  can  be  purified  as  much  by  repeating  a few  words 
of  devotion  at  certain  altars  as  by  centuries  of  agony  in  the 
flames? 

All  these  questions  rise  before  me  from  time  to  time,  and 
I find  no  reply.  If  I mention  them  to  my  confessor,  he 
says: 

“These  are  temptations  of  the  devil.  You  must  not  lis- 
ten to  them.  They  are  vain  and  presumptuous  questions. 
There  are  no  keys  on  earth  to  open  these  doors.” 

Are  there  any  keys  on  earth  to  lock  them  again,  when 
once  they  have  been  opened? 

“You  Germans,”  others  of  the  Italian  priests  say,  “takq 


THE  SCHON BERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


159 


everything  with  such  desperate  seriousness.  It  is  probably 
owing  to  your  long  winters  and  the  heaviness  of  your  north- 
ern climate.,  which  must,  no  doubt,  be  very  depressing  to 
the  spirits.” 

Holy  Mary!  and  these  Italians,  if  life  is  so  light  a matter 
to  them,  will  not  they  also  have  one  day  to  take  death 
“with  desperate  seriousness,”  and  judgment  and  eternity, 
although  there  will  be  no  long  winters,  I suppose,  and  no 
north  and  south,  to  depress  the  spirits  in  that  other  world? 

We  are  going  back  to  Germany  at  last.  Strangely  has 
the  world  enlarged  to  me  since  we  came  here.  We  are 
accredited  pilgrims;  we  have  performed  every  prescribed 
duty,  and  availed  ourselves  of  every  proffered  privilege. 
And  yet  it  is  not  because  of  the  regret  of  quitting  the  holy 
city  that  our  hearts  are  full  of  the  gravest  melancholy  as 
we  turn  away  from  Eome. 

When  I compare  the  recollections  of  this  Eome  with 
those  of  a home  at  Eisenach,  I am  tempted  in  my  heart  to 
feel  as  if  Germany,  and  not  Eome,  were  the  holy  place, 
and  our  pilgrimage  were  beginning  instead  of  ending,  as  we 
turn  our  faces  northward. 

‘ EVA'S  STORY. 

Cistercian  Convent,  Nimptschen,  1511. 

Life  cannot  at  the  utmost  last  very  long,  although  at 
seventeen  we  may  be  tempted  to  think  the  way  between  us 
and  heaven  interminable. 

For  the  convent  is  certainly  not  heaven ; I never  expected 
it  would  be.  It  is  not  nearly  so  much  like  heaven,  I think, 
as  Aunt  Cotta’s  home;  because  love  seems  to  me  to  be  the 
essential  joy  of  heaven,  and  there  is  more  love  in  that  home 
than  here. 

I am  not  at  all  disappointed.  I did  not  expect  a haven 
of  rest,  but  only  a sphere  where  I might  serve  God  better, 
and,  at  all  events,  not  be  a burden  on  dear  Aunt  Cotta. 
For  I feel  sure  Uncle  Cotta  will  become  blind;  and  they 
have  so  much  difficulty  to  struggle  on  as  it  is. 

And  the  world  is  full  of  dangers  for  a young  orphan  girl 
like  me;  and  I am  afraid  they  might  want  me  to  marry 
some  one,  which  I never  could. 

I have  no  doubt  God  will  give  me  some  work  to  do  for 
him  here,  and  that  is  all  the  happiness  I look  for.  Not 


160 


THE  8GH0NB ERO-CO TTA  FAMIL  Y. 


that  I think  there  are  not  other  kinds  of  happiness  in  the 
world  which  are  not  wrong;  but  they  are  not  for  me. 

I shall  never  think  it  was  wrong  to  love  them  all  at 
Eisenach  as  much  as  I did,  and  do,  whatever  the  confessor 
may  say.  I shall  be  better  all  my  life,  and  all  the  life  be- 
yond, I believe,  for  the  love  God  gave  them  for  me,  and 
me  for  them,  and  for  having  known  Cousin  Fritz.  I wish 
very  much  he  would  write  to  me;  and  sometimes  I think 
Twill  write  to  him.  I feel  sure  it  would  do  us  both  good. 
He  always  said  it  did  him  good  to  talk  and  read  the  dear 
old  Latin  hymns  with  me;  and  1 know  they  never  seemed 
more  real  and  true  than  when  I sang  them  to  him.  But 
the  father  confessor  says  it  would  be  exceedingly  perilous 
for  our  souls  to  hold  such  a correspondence;  and  he  asked 
me  if  I did  not  think  more  of  my  cousin  than  of  the  hymns 
when  I sang  them  to  him,  which,  he  says,  would  have  been 
a great  sin.  I am  sure  I cannot  tell  exactly  how  the 
thoughts  were  balanced,  or  from  what  source  each  drop  of 
pleasure  flowed.  It  was  all  blended  together.  It  was  joy 
to  sing  the  hymns,  and  it  was  joy  for  Fritz  to  like  to  hear 
them;  and  where  one  joy  overflowed  into  the  other  I can- 
not tell.  I believe  God  gave  me  both ; and  I do  not  see 
that  I need  care  to  divide  one  from  the  othef.  Who  cares, 
when  the  Elbe  is  flowing  past  its  willows  and  oaks  at 
Wittenberg,  which  part  of  its  waters  was  dissolved  by  the 
sun  from  the  pure  snows  on  the  mountains,  and  which  came 
trickling  from  some  little  humble  spring  on  the  sandy 
plains?  Both  springs  and  snows  came  originally  from  the 
clouds  above;  and  both,  as  they  flow  blended  on  together, 
make  the  grass  spring  and  the  leaf-buds  swell,  and  all  the 
world  rejoice. 

The  heart  with  which  we  love  each  other  and  with  which 
we  love  God,  is  it  not  the  same?  only  God  is  all  good,  and 
we  are  all  his,  therefore  we  should  love  him  best.  I think 
I do,  or  I should  be  more  desolate  here  than  I am,  away 
from  all  but  him. 

That  is  what  I understand  by  my  “ Theologia  Germanica,” 
which  Else  does  not  like.  I begin  with  my  father’s  legacy 
— “God  so  loved  the  world  that  he  gave  his  Son;”  and  then 
I think  of  the  crucifix,  and  of  the  love  of  Him  who  died 
for  us;  and,  in  the  light  of  these,  I love  to  read  in  my  boo]s 
of  Him  who  is -the  Supreme  Goodness,  whose  will  is  our 
rest,  and  who  is  himself  the  joy  of  all  our  joys,  and  our 


THE  SCHOJSTB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


161 


joy  when  we  have  no  other  joy.  The  things  I do  not  com- 
prehend in  the  book,  I leave,  like  so  many  other  things.  I 
am  but  a poor  girl  of  seventeen,  and  how  can  I expect  to 
understand  everything?  Only  I never  let  the  tilings  I do 
not  understand  perplex  me  about  those  I do. 

Therefore,  when  my  confessor  told  me  to  examine  my 
heart,  and  see  if  there  were  not  wrong  and  idolatrous 
thoughts  mixed  up  with  my  love  for  them  all  at  Eisenach, 
I said  at  once,  looking  up  at  him : 

“ Yes,  father.  I did  not  love  them  half  enough,  for  all 
their  love  to  me.” 

I think  he  must  have  been  satisfied;  for  although  he 
looked  perplexed,  he  did  not  ask  me  any  more  questions. 

I feel  very  sorry  for  many  of  the  nuns,  especially  for  the 
old  nuns.  They  seem  to  me  like  children,  and  yet  not 
childlike.  The  merest  trifles  appear  to  excite  or  trouble 
them.  They  speak  of  the  convent  as  if  it  were  the  world, 
and  of  the  world  as  if  it  were  hell.  It  is  a childhood  with 
no  hope,  no  youth  and  womanhood  before  it.  It  reminds 
me  of  the  stunted  oaks  we  passed  on  Duben  Heath,  between 
Wittenberg  and  Leipsic,  which  will  never  be  full-grown, 
and  yet  are  not  saplings. 

Then  there  is  one,  Sister  Beatrice,  whom  the  nuns  seem 
to  think  very  inferior  to  themselves,  because  they  say  she 
was  forced  into  the  convent  by  her  relatives,  to  prevent  her 
marrying  some  one  they  did  not  like,  and  could  never  be 
induced  to  take  the  vows  until  her  lover  died,  which,  they 
say,  is  hardly  worthy  of  the  name  of  a vocation  at  all. 

She  does  not  seem  to  think  so  either,  but  moves  about  in 
a subdued,  broken-spirited  way,  as  if  she  felt  herself  a 
creature  belonging  neither  to  the  church  nor  to  the  world. 

The  other  evening  she  had  been  on  an  errand  for  the 
prioress  through  the  snow,  and  returned  blue  with  cold. 
She  had  made  some  mistake  in  the  message,  and  was  ordered 
at  once,  with  contemptuous  words,  to  her  cell,  to  finish  a 
penance  by  reciting  certain  prayers. 

I could  not  help  following  her.  When  I found  her,  she 
was  sitting  on  her  pallet  shivering,  with  the  prayer-book 
before  her.  I crept  into  the  cell,  and,  sitting  down  beside 
her,  began  to  chafe  her  poor  icy  hands. 

At  first  she  tried  to  withdraw  them,  murmuring  that  she 
had  a penance  to  perform;  and  then  her  eyes  wandered 
from  the  book  to  mine.  She  gazed  wonderingly  at  me  for 
some  moments,  and  then  she  burst  into  tears,  and  said: 


162 


THE  SCIIO NBEltQ -COTTA  FAMIL  Y. 


“Oh,  do  not  do  that!  It  makes  me  think  of  the  nursery 
at  home.  And  my  mother  is  dead;  all  are  dead,  and  I 
cannot  die.” 

She  let  me  put  my  arms  round  her,  however;  and,  in 
faint,  broken  words,  the  whole  history  came  out. 

“I  am  not  here  from  choice,”  she  said.  “I  should  never 
have  been  here  if  my  mother  had  not  died;  and  I should 
never  have  taken  the  vows  if  he  had  not  died,  whatever 
they  had  done  to  me;  for  we  were  betrothed,  and  we  had 
vowed  before  God  we  would  be  true  to  each  other  till  death. 
And  why  is  not  one  vow  as  good  as  another?  When  they 
told  me  he  was  dead,  I took  the  vows — or,  at  least,  I let 
them  put  the  veil  on  me,  and  said  the  words  as  X was  told, 
after  the  priest;  for  I did  not  care  what  I did.  And  so  I 
am  a nun.  I have  no  wish  now  to  be  anything  else.  But 
it  will  do  me  no  good  to  be  a nun,  for  I loved  Eberhard 
first,  and  I loved  him  best;  and  now  that  he  is  dead,  I love 
no  one,  and  have  no  hope  in  heaven  or  earth.  I try,  in- 
deed, not  to  think  of  him,  because  they  say  that  is  sin;  but 
I cannot  think  of  happiness  without  him,  if  I try  forever.” 

I said,  “I  do  not  think  it  is  wrong  for  you  to  think  of 
him.” 

Her  face  brightened  for  an  instant,  and  then  she  shook 
her  head,  and  said: 

“Ah,  you  are  a child:  you  are  an  angel.  You  do  not 
know.”  But  then  she  began  to  weep  again,  but  more 
quietly.  “I  wish  you  had  seen  him;  then  you  would 
understand  better.  It  was  not  wrong  for  me  to  love  him 
once;  and  he  was  so  different  from  every  one  else — so  true 
and  gentle  and  so  brave.” 

I listened  while  she  continued  to  speak  of  him;  and  at 
last,  looking  wistfully  at  me,  she  said,  in  alow,  timid  voice: 
“I  cannot  help  trusting  you.”  And  she  drew  from  inside 
a fold  of  her  robe  a little  piece  of  yellow  paper,  with  a few 
words  written  on  it,  in  pale,  faded  ink,  and  a lock  of  brown 
hair. 

“Do  you  think  it  is  very  wrong?”  she  asked.  “I  have 
never  told  the  confessor,  because  I am  not  quite  sure  if  it  is 
a sin  to  keep  it;  and  I am  quite  sure  the  sisters  would  take 
it  from  me  if  they  knew.  Do  you  think  it  is  wrong?” 

The  words  were  very  simple — expressions  of  unchange- 
able affection,  and  a prayer  that  God  would  bless  her  and 
keep  them  for  each  other  till  better  times. 


THE  SCHONB ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


163 


I could  not  speak,  I felt  so  sorry;  and  she  murmured, 
nervously  taking  her  poor  treasures  from  my  hands,  “ You 
do  not  think  it  right.  But  you  will  not  tell?  Perhaps  one 
day  I shall  he  better,  and  he  able  to  gife  them  up;  but  not 
yet.  I have  nothing  else.” 

Then  I tried  to  tell  her  that  she  had  something  else; 
that  God  loved  her  and  had  pity  on  her,  and  that  perhaps 
he  was  only  answering  the  prayer  of  her  betrothed,  and 
keeping  them  in  his  blessed  keeping  until  they  should  meet 
in  better  times.  At  length  she  seemed  to  take  comfort; 
and  I knelt  down  with  her,  and  we  said  together  the  pray- 
ers she  had  been  commanded  to  recite. 

When  I rose,  she  said  thoughtfully,  “ You  seem  to  pray 
as  if  some  one  in  heaven  really  listened  and  cared.” 

“Yes,”  I said;  “God  does  listen  and  care.” 

“Even  to  me?”  she  asked;  “even  for  me?  Will  He  not 
despise  me,  like  the  holy  sisterhood?” 

“ He  scorneth  no  one;  and  they  say  the  lowest  are  nearest 
Him,  the  highest.”  # 

“I  can  certainly  never  be  anything  but  the  lowest,”  she 
said.  “It  is  fit  no  one  here  should  think  much  of  me,  for 
I have  only  given  the  refuse  of  my  life  to  God.  And  be- 
sides, I had  never  much  power  to  think;  and  the  little  I 
had  seems  gone  since  Eberhard  died.  I had  only  a little 
power  to  love;  and  I thought  that  was  dead.  But  since 
you  came,  I begin  to  think  I might  yet  love  a little.” 

As  I left  the  cell  she  called  me  back. 

“What  shall  I do  when  my  thoughts  wander,  as  they 
always  do  in  the  long  prayers?”  she  asked. 

“Make  shorter  prayers,  I think,  oftener,”  I said.  “I 
think  that  would  please  God  as  much.” 

August,  1511. 

The  months  pass  on  very  much  the  same  here;  but  I do 
not  find  them  monotonous.  I am  permitted  by  the  prioress 
to  wait  on  the  sick,  and  also  often  to  teach  the  younger 
novices.  This  little  world  grows  larger  to  me  every  week. 
It  is  a world  of  human  hearts,  and  what  a world  there  is  in 
every  heart! 

For  instance,  Aunt  Agnes!  I begin  now  to  know  her. 
All  the  sisterhood  look  up  to  her  as  almost  a saint  already. 
But  I do  not  believe  she  thinks  so  herself.  For  many 
months  after  I entered  the  cloister  she  scarcely  seemed  to 


164 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


notice  me;  but  last  week  she  brought  herself  into  a low 
fever  by  the  additional  fasts  and  severities  she  has  been  im- 
posing on  herself  lately.  It  was  my  night  to  watch  in  the 
infirmary  when  she  became  ill. 

At  first  she  seemed  to  shrink  from  receiving  anything  at 
my  hands. 

“Can  they  not  send  any  one  else?”  she  asked,  sternly. 

“It  is  appointed  to  me,”  I said,  “in  the  order  of  the 
sisterhood.” 

She  bowed  her  head,  and  made  no  further  opposition  to 
my  nursing  her.  And  it  was  very  sweet  to  me,  because,  in 
spite  of  all  the  settled,  grave  impressiveness  of  her  counte- 
nance I could  not  help  seeing  something  there  which  re- 
called dear  Aunt  Cotta. 

She  spoke  to  me  very  little;  but  I felt  her  large  deep  eyes 
following  me  as  I stirred  little  concoctions  from  herbs  on 
the  fire,  or  crept  softly  about  the  room.  Toward  morning 
she  said,  “Child,  you  are  tired — come  and  lie  down;”  and 
she  pointed  to  a little  bed  beside  her  own. 

Peremptory  as  were  the  words,  there  was  a tone  in  them 
different  from  the  usual  metallic  firmness  in  her  voice — 
which  froze  Else’s  heart — a tremulousness  which  was  almost 
tender.  I could  not  resist  the  command,  especially  as  she 
said  she  felt  much  better;  and  in  a few  minutes,  bad  nurse 
that  I was,  I fell  asleep. 

How  long  I slept  I knoAv  not,  but  I was  awakened  by  a 
slight  movement  in  the  room,  and  looking  up,  I saw  Aunt 
Agnes’  bed  empty.  In  my  first  moments  of  bewildered 
terror  I thought  of  arousing  the  sisterhood,  when  I noticed 
that  the  door  of  the  infirmary  which  opened  on  the  gallery 
of  the  chapel  was  slightly  ajar.  Softly  I stole  toward  it, 
and  there,  in  the  front  of  the  gallery,  wrapped  in  a sheet, 
knelt  Aunt  Agnes,  looking  more  than  ever  like  the  picture 
of  death  which  she  always  recalled  to  Else.  Her  lips, 
which  were  as  bloodless  as  her  face,  moved  with  passionate 
rapidity;  her  thin  hands  feebly  counted  the  black  beads  of 
her  rosary;  and  her  eyes  ay  ere  fixed  on  a picture  of  the 
Mater  Dolorosa  Avith  the  seven  sAvords  in  her  heart,  over 
one  of  the  altars.  There  was  no  impassiveness  in  the  poor 
sharp  features  and  trembling  lips  then.  Her  whole  soul 
seemed  going  forth  in  an  agonized  appeal  to  that  pierced 
heart;  and  I heard  her  murmur,  “In  vain!  holy  Virgin, 
plead  for  me ! it  has  been  all  in  vain.  The  flesh  is  no  more 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


165 


dead  in  me  than  the  first  day.  That  child’s  face  and  voice 
stir  my  heart  more  than  all  thy  sorrows.  This  feeble  tie 
of  nature  has  more  power  in  me  than  all  the  relationships 
of  the  heavenly  city.  It  has  been  in  vain — all,  all  in  vain. 
I cannot  quench  the  fires  of  earth  in  my  heart.” 

I scarcely  ventured  to  interrupt  her,  but  as  she  bowed 
her  head  on  her  hands,  and  fell  almost  prostrate  on  the  floor 
of  the  chapel,  while  her  whole  frame  heaved  with  repressed 
sobs,  I went  forward  and  gently  lifted  her,  saying,  “Sister 
Agnes,  I am  responsible  for  the  sick  to-night.  You  must 
come  back.” 

She  did  not  resist.  A shudder  passed  through  her;  then 
the  old  stony  look  came  back  to  her  face,  more  rigid  than 
ever,  and  she  suffered  me  to  wrap  her  up  in  the  bed,  and 
give  her  a warm  drink. 

I do  not  know  whether  she  suspects  that  I heard  her. 
She  is  more  reserved  with  me  than  ever;  but  to  me  those 
resolute,  fixed  features,  and  that  hard,  firm  voice,  will 
never  more  be  what  they  were  before. 

No  wonder  that  the  admiration  of  the  sisterhood  has  no 
power  to  elate  Aunt  Agnes,  and  that  their  wish  to  elect  her 
sub-prioress  had  no  seduction  for  her.  She  is  striving  in 
her  inmost  soul  after  an  ideal,  which,  could  she  reach  it, 
what  would  she  be? 

As  regards  all  human  feeling  and  earthly  life,  dead! 

And  just  as  she  hoped  this  was  attained,  a voice — a poor 
friendly  child’s  voice — falls  on  her  ear,  and  she  finds  that 
what  she  deemed  death  was  only  a dream  in  an  undisturbed 
slumber,  and  that  the  whole  work  has  to  begin  again.  It 
is  a fearful  combat,  this  concentrating  all  the  powers  of  life 
on  producing  death  in  life. 

Can  this  be  what  God  means? 

Thank  God,  at  least,  that  my  vocation  is  lower.  The 
humbling  work  in  the  infirmary,  and  the  trials  of  temper 
in  the  school  of  the  novices,  seem  to  teach  me  more,  and 
to  make  me  feel  that  I am  nothing  and  have  nothing  in 
myself,  more  than  all  my  efforts  to  feel  nothing. 

My  “ Theologia”  says  indeed,  that  true  self-abnegation  is 
freedom;  and  freedom  cannot  be  attained  until  we  are 
above  the  fear  of  punishment  or  the  hope  of  reward.  Else 
cannot  bear  this;  and  when  I spoke  of  it  the  other  day  to 
poor  Sister  Beatrice,  she  said  it  bewildered  her  poor  brain 
altogether  to  think  of  it.  But  I do  not  take  it  in  that 


166 


THE  SCHONB ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


sense.  I think  it  must  mean  that  love  is  its  own  reward; 
and  grieving  Him  we  love,  who  has  so  loved  us,  our  worst 
punishment;  and  that  seems  to  me  quite  true. 


PART  XI. 

else’s  story. 

Wittenberg,  June,  1512. 

Our  Eva  seems  happy  at  the  convent.  She  has  taken 
the  vows,  and  is  now  finally  Sister  Ave.  She  has  also  sent 
us  some  eye-water  for  the  father.  But  in  spite  of  all  we 
can  do  his  sight  seems  failing. 

In  some  way  or  other  I think  my  father’s  loss  of  sight 
has  brought  blessing  to  the  family. 

Our  grandmother,  who  is  very  feeble  now,  and  seldom 
leaves  her  chair  by  the  stove,  has  become  much  more  toler- 
ant of  his  schemes  since  there  is  no  chance  of  their  being 
carried  out,  and  listens  with  remarkable  patience  to  his 
statements  of  the  wonders  he  would  have  achieved  had  his 
sight  only  been  continued  a few  years. 

Nor  does  the  father  himself  seem  as  much  dejected  as 
one  would  have  expected. 

When  I was  comforting  him  to-day  by  saying  how  much 
less  anxious  our  mother  looks,  he  replied: 

“Yes,  my  child,  the  prseter  pluperfect  subjunctive  is  a 
more  comfortable  tense  to  live  in  than  the  future  sub- 
junctive, for  any  length  of  time.” 

I look  perplexed,  and  he  explained: 

“It  is  easier,  when  once  one  has  made  up  one’s  mind  to 
it,  to  say,  4 Had  I had  this  I might  have  done  that,’  than, 
4 If  I can  have  this  I shall  do  that,’  at  least  it  is  easier  to 
the  anxious  and  excitable  feminine  mind.” 

“But  to  you,  father?” 

“To  me  it  is  a consolation  at  last  to  be  appreciated. 
Even  your  grandmother  understands  at  length  how  great 
the  results  would  have  been  if  I could  only  have  had  eye- 
sight to  perfect  that  last  invention  for  using  steam  to  draw 
water.” 

Our  grandmother  must  certainly  have  put  great  restraint 


THE  SCIIONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


16? 


on  her  usually  frank  expression  of  opinion,  if  she  has  led 
our  father  to  believe  she  had  any  confidence  in  that  last 
scheme;  for,  I must  confess,  that  of  all  our  father’s  inven- 
tions and  discoveries,  the  whole  family  consider  this  idea 
about  the  steam  the  wildest  and  most  impracticable  of  all. 
The  secret  of  perpetual  motion  might,  no  doubt,  be  dis- 
covered, and  a clock  be  constructed  which  would  never 
need  winding  up — I see  no  great  difficulty  in  that.  It 
might  be  quite  possible  to  transmute  lead  into  gold,  or  iron 
into  silver,  if  one  could  find  exactly  the  right  proportions 
of  heat.  My  father  has  explained  all  that  to  me  quite 
clearly.  The  elixir  which  would  prolong  life  indefinitely 
seems  to  me  a little  more  difficult;  but  this  notion  of 
pumping  up  water  by  means  of  the  steam  which  issues 
from  boiling  water  and  disperses  in  an  instant,  we  all  agree 
in  thinking  quite  visionary,  and  out  of  the  question;  so 
that  it  is,  perhaps,  as  well  our  poor  father  should  not  have 
thrown  away  any  more  expense  or  time  on  it.  Besides,  we 
had  already  had  two  or  three  explosions  from  his  experi- 
ments; and  some  of  the  neighbors  were  beginning  to  say 
very  unpleasant  things  about  the  black  art,  and  witchcraft; 
so  that,  on  the  whole,  no  doubt,  it  is  all  for  the  best. 

I would  not,  however,  for  the  world,  have  hinted  this  to 
him;  therefore  I only  replied,  evasively: 

“Our  grandmother  has  indeed  been  much  gentler  and 
more  placid  lately.” 

“It  is  not  only  that,”  he  rejoined;  “she  has  an  intelli- 
gence far  superior  to  that  of  most  women,  she  comprehends. 
And  then,”  he  continued,  “I  am  not  without  hopes  that 
that  young  nobleman,  Ulrich  von  Gersdorf,  w7ho  comes 
here  so  frequently  and  asks  about  Eva,  may  one  day  carry 
out  my  schemes.  He  and  Chriemhild  begin  to  enter  into 
the  idea  quite  intelligently.  Besides,  there  ik  Master 
Reichenbach,  the  rich  merchant  to  whom  your  Aunt  Cotta 
introduced  us;  he  has  money  enough  to  carry  things  out 
in  the  best  style.  He  certainly  does  not  promise  much, 
but  he  is  an  intelligent  listener,  and  that  is  a great  step. 
Gottfried  Reichenbach  is  an  enlightened  man  for  a mer- 
chant, although  he  is,  perhaps,  rather  slow  in  comprehen- 
sion, and  a little  over-cautious.” 

“He  is  not  over-cautious  in  his  alms,  father,”  I said; 
“at  least  Dr.  Martin  Luther  says  so.” 

“Perhaps  not,”  he  said.  “On  the  whole,  certainly,  the 


168 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


citizens  of  Wittenberg  are  very  superior  to  those  of  Eisen- 
ach, who  were  incredulous  and  dull  to  the  last  degree.  It 
will  be  a great  thing  if  Eeichenbach  and  Von  Gersdorf  take 
up  this  invention.  Eeichenbach  can  introduce  it  at  once 
among  the  patrician  families  of  the  great  cities  with  whom 
he  is  connected,  and  Von  Gersdorf  would  promote  it  among 
his  kindred  knights.  It  would  not,  indeed,  be  such  an  ad- 
vantage to  our  family  as  if  Pollux  and  Christopher,  or  our 
poor  Fritz,  had  carried  it  out.  But  never  mind,  Else,  my 
child,  we  are  children  of  Adam  before  we  are  Cottas.  We 
must  think  not  only  of  the  family,  but  of  the  world.” 

Master  Eeichenbach,  indeed,  may  take  a genuine  interest 
in  my  father’s  plans,  but  I have  suspicions  of  Ulrich  von 
Gersdorf.  He  seems  to  me  far  more  interested  in  Chriem- 
hild’s  embroidery  than  in  our  father’s  steam-pump;  and 
although  he  continues  to  talk  of  Eva  as  if  he  thought  her 
an  angel,  he  certainly  sometimes  looks  at  Chriemhild  as  if 
he  thought  her  a creature  as  interesting. 

I do  not  like  such  transitions;  and,  besides,  his  conver- 
sation is  so  very  different,  in  my  opinion,  from  Master 
Eeichenbach’s.  Ulrich  von  Gersdorf  has  no  experience  of 
life  beyond  a boar-hunt,  a combat  with  some  rival  knights, 
or  a foray  on  some  defenseless  merchants.  His  life  has 
been  passed  in  the  castle  of  an  uncle  of  his  in  the  Thuringian 
Forest;  and  I cannot  wonder  that  Chriemhild  listens,  with 
a glow  of  interest  on  her  face,  as  she  sits  with  her  eyes  bent 
on  her  embroidery,  to  his  stories  of  ambushes  and  daring 
surprises.  But  to  me  this  life  seems  rude  and  lawless. 
Ulrich’s  uncle  was  unmarried;  and  they  had  no  ladies  in 
the  castle  except  a widowed  aunt  of  Ulrich,  who  seems  to 
be  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  and  especially  to  pride  herself  on 
being  able  to  wear  pearls  and  velvet,  which  no  burgher’s 
wife  may  appear  in. 

Ulrich’s  mother  died  early.  I fancy  she  was  gentler  and 
of  a truer  nobleness.  He  says  the  only  book  they  have  in 
the  castle  is  an  old  illuminated  Missal  which  belonged  to 
•her.  He  has  another  aunt,  Beatrice,  who  is  in  the  convent 
at  Nimptschen  with  our  Eva.  They  sent  her  there  to  pre- 
vent her  marrying  the  son  of  a family  with  whom  they  had 
an  hereditary  feud.  I begin  to  feel,  as  Fritz  used  to  say, 
that  the  life  of  these  petty  nobles  is  not  nearly  so  noble  as 
that  of  the  burghers.  They  seem  to  know  nothing  of  the 
world  beyond  the  little  district  they  rule  by  terror.  They 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


1 69 


have  no  honest  way  of  maintaining  themselves,  but  live  by 
the  hard  toil  of  their  poor  oppressed  peasants,  and  by  the 
plunder  of  their  enemies. 

Herr  Reichenbach,  on  the  other  hand,  is  connected  with 
the  patrician  families  in  the  great  city  of  Niirnberg;  and 
although  he  does  not  talk  much,  he  has  histories  to  tell  of 
painters  and  poets,  and  great  events  in  the  broad  field  of 
the  world.  Ah,  I wish  he  had  known  Fritz!  He  likes  to 
hear  me  talk  of  him. 

And  then,  moreover,  Herr  Reichenbach  has  much  to  tell 
me  about  Brother  Martin  Luther,  who  is  at  the  head  of  the 
Eremite  or  Augustine  convent  here,  and  seems  to  me  to 
be  the  great  man  of  Wittenberg;'  at  least  people  appear  to 
like  him  or  dislike  him  more  than  any  one  else  here. 

October  19,  1512. 

This  has  been  a great  day  at  Wittenberg.  Friar  Martin 
Luther  has  been  created  doctor  of  divinity.  Master  Reich- 
enbach procured  us  excellent  places,  and  we  saw  the  degree 
conferred  on  him  by  Dr.  Andrew  Bodenstein  of  Carlstadts 

The  great  bell  of  the  city  churches,  which  only  sound, 
on  great  occasions,  pealed  as  if  for  a church  festival;  all  the 
university  authorities  marched  in  procession  through  the 
streets;  and  after  taking  the  vow,  Friar  Martin  was 
solemnly  invested  with  the  doctor’s  robes,  hat,  and  ring — a 
massive  gold  ring  presented  to  him  by  the  elector. 

But  the  part  winch  impressed  me  most  was  the  oath, 
which  Dr.  Luther  pronounced  most  solemnly,  so  that  the 
words,  in  his  fine  clear  voice,  rang  through  the  silence. 
He  repeated  it  after  Dr.  Bodenstein,  who  is  commonly  called 
Carlstadt.  The  words  in  Latin,  Herr  Reichenbach  says, 
were  these  (he  wrote  them  for  me  to  send  to  Eva) 

“ Juro  me  veritatem,  evangelicam  viriliter  defensurum;” 
which  Herr  Reichenbach  translated,  “I  swear  vigorously 
to  defend  evangelical  truth.” 

This  oath  is  only  required  at  one  other  university  besides 
Wittenberg — that  of  Tubingen.  Dr.  Luther  swore  it  as  if 
he  were  a knight  of  olden  times,  vowing  to  risk  life  and 
limb  in  some  sacred  cause.  To  me,  who  could  not  under- 
stand the  words,  his  manner  was  more  than  of  a warrior 
swearing  on  his  sword  than  of  a doctor  of  divinity. 

And  Master  Reichenbach  says,  “What  he  has  promised 

lie  will  do.” 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


170 

Chriemhild  laughs  at  Master  Reichenbach,  because  he 
has  entered  his  name  on  the  list  of  university  students,  in 
order  to  attend  Dr.  Luther’s  lectures. 

“With  his  grave  old  face,  and  his  gray  hair,”  she  says, 
“to  sit  among  those  noisy  student  boys.” 

But  I can  see  nothing  laughable  in  it.  I think  it  is  a 
sign  of  something  noble,  for  a man  in  the  prime  of  life  to 
be  content  to  learn  as  a little  child.  And  besides,  whatever 
Chriemhild  may  say,  if  Herr  Reichenbach  is  a little  bald, 
and  has  a few  gray  hairs,  it  is  not  on  account  of  age. 
Grown  men,  who  think  and  fe^l  in  these  stormy  times, 
cannot  be  expected  to  have  smooth  faces  and  full  curly 
locks,  like  Ulrich  von  Gersdorf* 

I am  sure  if  I were  a man  twice  as  old  as  he  is,  there  is 
nothing  I should  like  better  than  to  attend  Dr.  Luther’s 
lectures.  I have  heard  him  preach  once  in  the  city  church, 
and  it  was  quite  different  from  any  other  sermon  I ever 
heard.  He  spoke  of  God  and  Christ,  and  heaven  and  hell, 
with  as  much  conviction  and  simplicity  as  if  he  had  been 
pleading  some  cause  of  human  wrong,  or  relating  some 
great  events  which  happened  on  earth  yesterday,  instead  of 
reciting  it  like  a piece  of  Latin  grammar,  as  so  many  of 
the  monks  do. 

I began  almost  to  feel  as  if  I might  at  last  find  a religion 
that  would  do  for  me.  Even  'Christopher  was  attentive. 
He  said  Dr.  Luther  called  everything  by  such  plain  names 
one  could  not  help  understanding. 

We  have  seen  him  once  at  our  house.  He  was  so  respect- 
ful to  our  grandmother,  and  so  patient  with  my  father,  and 
he  spoke  so  kindly  of  Fritz. 

Fritz  has  written  to  us,  and  has  recommended  us  to  take 
Dr.  Martin  Luther  for  our  family  confessor.  He  says  he 
can  never  repay  the  good  Dr.  Luther  has  done  to  him. 
And  certainly  he  writes  more  brightly  and  hopefully  than 
he  ever  has  since  he  left  us,  although  he  has,  alas!  finally 
taken  those  dreadful,  irrevocable  vows. 

March,  1513. 

Dr.  Luther  has  consented  to  be  our  confessor;  and 
thank  God  I do  believe  at  last  I have  found  the  religion 
which  may  make  me,  even  me,  love  God.  Dr.  Luther  says 
I have  entirely  misunderstood  God  and  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ.  He  seemed  to  understand  all  I have  been  longing 


THE  SCHONBEUG-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


171 


for  and  perplexing  myself  about  all  my  life,  with  a glance. 
When  1 began  to  falter  out  my  confessions  and  difficulties 
to  him,  he  seemed  to  see  them  all  spread  before  him,  and 
explained  them  all  to  me.  He  says  I have  been  thinking 
of  God  as  a severe  judge,  an  exactor,  a harsh  creditor, 
when  he  is  a giver,  a forgiving  Saviour,  yea,  the  very  foun- 
tain of  inexpressible  love. 

“God’s love,”  he  said,  “gives  in  such  a way  that  it  flows 
from  a father’s  heart,  the  well-spring  of  all  good.  The 
heart  of  the  giver  makes  the  gift  dear  and  precious;  as 
among  ourselves  we  say  of  even  a trifling  gift,  ‘It  comes 
from  a hand  we  love,’  and  look  not  so  much  at  the  gift  as 
at  the  heart. 

“If  we  will  only  consider  him  in  his  works,  we  shall  learn 
that  God  is  nothing  else  but  pure,  unutterable  love,  greater 
and  more  than  any  one  can  think.  The  shameful  thing  is, 
that  the  world  does  not  regard  this,  nor  thank  him  for  it, 
although  every  day  it  sees  before  it  such  countless  benefits 
from  him;  and  it  deserves  for  its  ingratitude  that  the  sun 
Should  not  shine  another  moment  longer,  nor  the  grass 
grow,  yet  he  ceases  not,  without  a moment’s  interval,  to 
love  us,  and  to  do  us  good.  Language  must  fail  me  to 
speak  of  his  spiritual  gifts.  Here  he  pours  forth  for  us, 
not  sun  and  moon,  nor  heaven  and  earth,  but  his  own 
heart,  his  beloved  Son,  so  that  he  suffered  his  blood  to  be 
shed,  and  the  most  shameful  death  to  be  inflicted  on  him, 
for  us  wretched,  wicked,  thankless  creatures.  How,  then, 
can  we  say  anything  but  that  God  is  an  abyss  of  endless, 
unfathomable  love? 

“The  whole  Bible,”  he  says,  “is  full  of  this,  that  we 
should  not  doubt,  but  be  absolutely  certain,  that  God  is 
merciful,  gracious,  patient,  faithful,  and  true;  who  not 
only  will  keep  his  promises,  but  already  has  kept  and  done 
abundantly  beyond  what  he  promised,  since  he  has  given 
his  own  Son  for  our  sins  on  the  cross,  that  all  who  believe 
in  him  should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life. 

“Whoever  believes  and  embraces  this,”  he  added,  “that 
God  has  given  his  only  Son  to  die  for  us  poor  sinners,  to 
him  it  is  no  longer  any  doubt,  but  the  most  certain  truth, 
that  God  reconciles  us  to  himself,  and  is  favorable  and 
heartily  gracious  to  us. 

“Since  the  gospel  shows  us  Christ  the  Son  of  God,  who, 
according  to  the  will  of  the  Father,  has  offered  himself  up 


1 72  TEE  SGEOJSTB  ERG-GOTTA  FAMIL  7. 

for  us,  and  has  satisfied  for  sin,  the  heart  can  no  more 
doubt  God’s  goodness  and  grace — is  no  more  affrighted, 
nor  flies  from  God,  but  sets  all  its  hope  in  his  goodness 
and  mercy.” 

“The  apostles  are  always  exhorting  us,”  he  says,  “to 
continue  in  the  love  of  God,  that  is,  that  each  one  should 
entirely  conclude  in  his  heart  that  he  is  loved  by  God;  and 
set  before  our  eyes  a certain  proof  of  it,  in  that  God  has 
not  spared  his  Son,  but  given  him  for  the  world,  that 
through  his  death  the  world  might  again  have  life. 

“It  is  God’s  honor  and  glory  to  give  liberally.  His 
nature  is  all  pure  love;  so  that  if  any  one  would  describe 
or  picture  God,  he  must  describe  One  who  is  pure  love,  the 
divine  nature  being  nothing  else  than  a furnace  and  glow 
of  such  love  that  it  fills  heaven  and  earth. 

“Love  is  an  image  of  God,  and  not  a dead  image,  nor 
one  painted  on  paper,  but  the  living  essence  of  the  divine  * 
nature,  which  burns  full  of  all  goodness. 

“He  is  not  harsh,  as  we  are  to  those  who  have  injured 
us.  We  withdraw  our  hand  and  close  our  purse;  but  H£ 
is  kind  to  the  unthankful  and  the  evil. 

“He  sees  thee  in  thy  poverty  and  wretchedness,  and 
knows  thou  hast  nothing  to  pay.  Therefore  He  freely  for- 
gives, and  gives  thee  all. 

“It  is  not  to  be  borne,”  he  said,  “that  Christian  people 
should  say,  we  cannot  know  whether  God  is  favorable  to  us 
or  not.  On  the  contrary,  we  should  learn  to  say,  I know 
that  I believe  in  Christ,  and  therefore  that  God  is  my 
gracious  Father. 

“What  is  the  reason  that  God  gives?”  he  said,  one  day. 
“What  moves  him  to  it?  Nothing  but  unutterable  love, 
because  he  delights  to  give  and  to  bless.  What  does  he 
give?  Not  empires  merely,  not  a world  full  of  silver  and 
gold,  not  heaven  and  earth  only,  but  his  Son,  who  is  as 
great  as  himself — that  is,  eternal  and  incomprehensible;  a 
gift  as  infinite  as  the  Giver,  the  very  spring  and  fountain 
of  all  grace;  yea,  the  possession  and  property  of  all  the 
riches  and  treasures  of  God.” 

Dr.  Luther  said  also,  that  the  best  name  by  which  we 
can  think  of  God  is  Father.  “It  is  a loving,  sweet,  deep, 
heart-touching  name;  for  the  name  of  father  is  in  its 
nature  full  of  inborn  sweetness  and  comfort.  Therefore, 
also,  we  must  confess  ourselves  children  of  God ; for  by  this 


THE  SCHONB EllQ-GO TTA  FAMILY.  173 

name  we  deeply  touch  our  God,  since  there  is  not  a sweeter 
sound  to  the  father  than  the  voice  of  the  child.” 

All  this  is  wonderful  to  me.  I scarcely  dare  to  open  my 
hand,  and  take  this  belief  home  to  my  heart. 

Is  it  then,  indeed,  thus  we  must  think  of  God?  Is  he, 
indeed,  as  Dr.  Luther  says,  ready  to  listen  to  our  feeblest 
cry,  ready  to  forgive  us,  and  to  help  us? 

And  if  he  is  indeed  like  this,  and  cares  what  we  think  of 
him,  how  I must  have  grieved  him  all  these  years! 

Not  a moment  longer,  I will  not  distrust  Thee  a moment 
longer.  See,  heavenly  Father,  I have  come  back! 

Can  it,  indeed,  be  possible  that  God  is  pleased  when  we 
trust  him — pleased  when  we  pray,  simply  because  he  loves 
us? 

Can  it  indeed  be  true,  as  Dr.  Luther  says,  that  love  is 
our  greatest  virtue;  and  that  we  please  God  best  by  being 
kind  to  each  other,  iust  because  that  is  what  is"  most  like 
him  ? 

I am  sure  it  is  true.  It  is  so  good,  it  must  be  true. 

Then  it  is  possible  for  me,  even  for  me,  to  love  God. 
How  is  it  possible  for  me  not  to  love  him?  And  it  is  pos- 
sible for  me,  even  for  me,  to  be  religious,  if  to  be  religious 
is  to  love  God,  and  to~do  whatever  we  can  to  make  those 
around  us  happy. 

But  if  this  is  indeed  religion,  it  is  happiness,  it  is  free- 
dom^-it  is  life! 

Why,  then,”  are  so  many  of  the  religious  people  I know 
of  a sad  countenance,  as  if  they  were  bond-servants  toiling 
for  a hard  master? 

I must  ask  Dr.  Luthqr. 

April,  1513. 

I have  asked  Dr.  Luther,  and  he  says  it  is  because  the 
devil  makes  a great  deal  of  the  religion  we  see;  that  he 
pretends  to  be  Christ,  and  comes  and  terrifies  people,  and 
scourges  them  with  the  remembrance  of  their  sins,  and  tells 
them  they  must  not  dare  to  lift  up  their  eyes  to  heaven ; 
God  is  so  holy,  and  they  are* so  sinful.  But  it  is  all  because 
he  knows  that  if  they  would  lift  their  eyes  to  heaven,  their 
terrors  would  vanish,  and  they  would  see  Christ  there,  not 
as  the  Judge*  and  the  hard,  exacting  Creditor,  but  as  the 
pitiful,  loving  Saviour. 

I find  it  a great  comfort  to  believe  in  this  way  in  the 


174 


THE  8GH ONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY. 


devil.  Has  he  not  been  trying  to  teach  me  his  religion  all 
my  life?  And  now  I have  found  him  out.  He  has  been 
telling  me  lies,  not  about  myself  (Dr.  Luther  says  he  can- 
not paint  us  more  sinful  than  we  are),  but  lies  about  God. 
It  helps  me  almost  as  much  to  hear  Dr.  Luther  speak  about 
the  devil  as  about  God — “'the  malignant,  sad  spirit,”  he 
says,  “who  loves  to  make  every  one  sad.” 

With  God’s  help,  I will  never  believe  him  again.  But 
Dr.  Luther  said  I shall,  often;  that  he  will  come  again 
and  malign  God,  and  assail  my  peace  in  so  many  ways,  that 
it  will  be  long  before  I learn  to  know  him. 

I shuddered  when  he  told  me  this;  but  then  he  reassured 
me,  by  telling  me  a beautiful  story,  which,  he  said,  was 
from  the  Bible.  It  was  about  a Good  Shepherd  and  silly, 
wandering  sheep,  and  a wolf  who  sought  to  devour  them. 
“All  the  care  of  the  Shepherd,”  he  said,  “is  in  the  ten- 
derest  way  to  attract  the  sheep  to  keep  close  to  him;  and 
when  they  wander,  he  goes  and  seeks  them,  takes  them  on 
his  shoulder,  and  carries  them  safe  home.  All  our  wisdom,” 
he  says,  “is  to  keep  always  near  this  Good  Shepherd,  who 
is  Christ,  and  to  listen  to  his  voice.” 

I know  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  called  the  Good  Shep- 
herd. . I have  seen  the  picture  of  him  carrying  the  lamb  on 
his  shoulder.  But  until  Dr.  Luther  explained  it  to  me, 
I thought  it  meant  that  he  was  the  Lord  and  Owner  of  all 
the  world,  who  are  his  flock.  Bat  I never  thought  that  he 
cared  for  me  as  his  sheep,  sought  me,  called  me,  watched 
me,  even  me,  day  by  day. 

Other  people,  no  doubt,  have  understood  all  this  before. 
And  yet,  if  so,  why  do  not  the  monks  preach  of  it?  Why 
should  Aunt  Agnes  serve  him  in  the  convent  by  penances 
and  self-tormentings,  instead  of  serving  him  in  the  world 
by  being  kind  and  helping  all  around.  Why  should  our 
dear,  gentle  mother,  have  such  sad,  self-reproachful 
thoughts,  and  feel  as  if  she  and  our  family  were  under  a 
curse? 

Dr.  Luther  said  that  Christ  Avas  “made  a curse  for  us,” 
that  he,  the  unspotted  and  undefiled  Lamb  of  God,  bore 
the  curse  for  us  on  the  cross;  and  that  we,  believing  in 
him,  are  not  under  the  curse,  but  under  the  blessing — that 
were  a blessed. 

This,  then,  is  what  the  crucifix  and  the  Agnus  Dei  mean. 

Doubtless  many  around  me  have  understood  all  this  long 
ago.  I am  sure,  at  least,  that  our  Eva  understood  it. 


IBB  SCHON BERG-COTTA  FAMILY.  \% 

But  what  inexpressible  joy  for  me,  as  I sit  at  my  em- 
broidery in  the  garden,  to  look  up  through  the  apple  blos- 
soms and  the  fluttering  leaves,  and  to  see  God’s  love  there; 
to  listen  to  the  thrush  that  has  built  his  nest  among  them, 
and  feel  God’s  love,  who  cares  for  the  birds,  in  every  note 
that  swells  his  little  throat;  to  look  beyond  to  the  bright 
blue  depths  of  the  sky,  and  feel  they  are  a canopy  of  bless- 
ing— the  roof  of  the  house  of  my  Father;  that  if  clouds 
pass  over,  it  is  the  unchangeable  light  they  veil;  that, 
even  when  the  day  itself  passes,  I shall  see  that  the  night 
itself  only  unveils  new  worlds  of  light;  and  to  know  that  if 
I could  unwrap  fold  after  fold  of  God’s  universe,  I should 
only  unfold  more  and  more  blessing,  and  see  deeper  and 
deeper  into  the  love  which  is  at  the  heart  of  all. 

And  then  what  joy  again  to  turn  to  my  embroidery, 
and,  as  my  fingers  busily  ply  the  needle,  to  think : 

“This  is  to  help  my  father  and  mother;  this,  even  this, 
is  a little  work  of  love.  And  as  I sit  and  stitch,  God  is 
pleased  with  me,  and  with  what  I am  doing.  He  gives  me 
this  to  do,  as  much  as  he  gives  the  priests  to  pray,  and  Dr. 
Luther  to  preach.  I am  serving  Him,  and  he  is  near  me 
in  my  little  corner  of  the  world,  and  is  pleased  with  me — 
even  with  me !” 

Oh,  Fritz  and  Eva  if  you  had  both  known  this,  need  you 
have  left  us  to  go  and  serve  God  so  far  away? 

Have  I indeed,  like  St.  Christopher,  found  my  bank  of 
the  river,  where  I can  serve  my  Saviour  by  helping  all  the 
pilgrims  I can? 

Better,  better  than  St.  Christopher;  for  do  I not  know 
the  voice  that  calls  to  me : 

“Else!  Else!  do  this  for  me?” 

And  now  I do  not  feel  at  all  afraid  to  grow  old,  which  is 
a great  relief,  as  I am  already  six-and-twenty,  and  the  chil- 
dren think  me  nearly  as  old  as  our  mother.  For  what  is 
growing  old,  if  Dr.  Martin  Luther  is  indeed  right  (and  I 
am  sure  he  is),  but  growing  daily  nearer  God,  and  his  holy, 
happy  house!  Dr.  Luther  says  our  Saviour  called  heaven 
his  Father’s  house. 

Not  that  I wish  to  leave  this  world.  While  God  wills  we 
should  stay  here,  and  is  with  us,  is  it  not  homelike  enough 
for  us? 

May,  1513 

This  morning  I was  busy  making  a favorite  pudding  \ f 


176 


THE  SCHOMB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


the  father’s,  when  I heard  Herr  Keichenbach’s  voice  at  the 
door.  He  went  into  the  dwelling-room,  and  soon  after- 
ward Chriemhild,  Atlantis,  and  Thekla,  invaded  the 
kitchen. 

“Herr  Reichenbach  wishes  to  have  a consultation,”  said 
Chriemhild,  “and  we  are  sent  away.” 

I felt  anxious  for  a moment.  It  seemed  like  the  old 
Eisenach  days;  but  since  we  have  been  at  Wittenberg  we 
have  never  gone  into  debt;  so  that,  after  thinking  a little, 
I was  reassured.  The  children  were  full  of  speculations 
what  it  would  be  about.  Chriemhild  thought  it  was  some 
affair  of  state,  because  she  had  seen  him  in  close  confabula- 
tion with  Ulrich  von  Gersdorf  as  he  came  up  the  street, 
and  they  had  probably  been  discussing  some  question 
about  the  privileges  of  the  nobles  and  burghers. 

Atlantis  believed  it  had  something  to  do  with  Dr.  Martin 
Luther,  because  Herr  Reichenbach  had  presented  the 
mother  with  a new  pamphlet  of  the  doctor’s,  on  entering 
the  room. 

Thekla  was  sure  it  was  at  last  the  opportunity  to  make  use 
of  one  of  the  father’s  discoveries,  whether  the  perpetual 
clock,  or  the  transmutation  of  metals,  or  the  steam-pump, 
she  could  not  tell;  but  she  was  persuaded  it  was  something 
which  was  to  make  our  fortunes  at  last,  because  Herr 
Reichenbach  looked  so  very  much  in  earnest,  and  was  so 
very  respectful  to  our  father. 

They  had  not  much  time  to  discuss  their  various  theories 
when  we  heard  Herr  Reichenbach’s  step  pass  hurriedly 
through  the  passage,  and  the  door  closed  hastily  after  him. 

“Do  you  call  that  a consultation?”  said  Chriemhild, 
scornfully;  “he  has  not  been  here  ten  minutes.” 

The  next  instant  our  mother  appeared,  looking  very  pale, 
and  with  her  voice  trembling  as  she  said: 

“Else,  my  child,  we  want  you.” 

“You  are  to  know  first,  Else,”  said  the  children. 
“Well,  it  is  only  fair;  you  are  a dear  good  eldest  sister, 
and  will  be  sure  to  tell  us.” 

I scarcely  knew  why,  but  my  fingers  did  not  seem  as 
much  under  control  as  usual,  and  it  was  some  moments  be- 
fore I could  put  the  finishing  stroke  to  my  pudding,  wash 
my  hands,  pull  down  the  white  sleeves  to  my  wrists,  and 
join  them  in  the  dwelling-room,  so  that  my  mother  re- 
appeared with  an  impatience  very  unusual  for  her,  and  led 
me  in  herself. 


THE  SGHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


177 


“Else,  darling,  come  here,”  said  my  father.  And  when 
he  felt  my  hand  in  his,  he  added,  “ Herr  Reichenbach  left 
a message  for  thee.  Other  parents  often  decide  theoe  mat- 
ters for  their  children,  but  thy  mother  and  I wish  to  leave 
the  matter  to  thee.  Couldst  thou  be  his  wife?” 

The  question  took  me  by  surprise,  and  I could  only  say: 
“Can  it  be  possible  he  thinks  of  me?” 

“I  see  nothing  impossible  in  that,  my  Else,”  said  my 
father;  “but  at  all  events  Herr  Reichenbach  has  placed 
that  beyond  a doubt.  The  question  now  is  whether  our 
Else  can  think  of  him.” 

I could  not  say  anything. 

“Think  well  before  you  reject  him,”  said  my  father;  “he 
is  a good  and  generous  man,  he  desires  no  portion  with 
thee,  and  he  says  thou  wouldst  be  a portion  for  a king; 
and  I must  say  he  is  very  intelligent  and  well-informed, 
and  can  appreciate  scientific  inventions  as  few  men  in  these 
days  can.” 

“1  do  not  wish  him  to  be  dismissed,”  I faltered. 

But  my  tender-hearted  mother  said,  laying  my  head  on 
her  shoulder: 

“Yet  think  well,  darling,  before  you  accept  him.  We 
are  not  poor  now,  and  we  need  no  stranger’s  wealth  to  make 
us  happy.  Heaven  forbid  that  our  child  should  sacrifice 
herself  for  us.  Herr  Reichenbach  is,  no  doubt,  a good  and 
wise  man,  but  I know  well  a young  maiden’s  fancy.  He  is 
little,  I know — not  tall  and  stalwart,  like  our  Fritz  and 
Christopher;  and  he  is  a little  bald,  and  he  is  not  very 

young,  and  rather  grave  and  silent,  and  young  girls ” 

“But,  mother,”  I said,  “I  am  not  a young  girl,  I am  six- 
and-twenty;  and  I do  not  think  Herr  Reichenbach  old,  and 
I never  noticed  that  he  was  bald,  and  I am  sure  to  me  he  is 
not  silent.” 

“That  will  do,  Else,”  said  the  grandmother,  laughing 
from  her  corner  by  the  stove.  “Son  and  daughter,  let 
these  two  settle  it  together.  They  will  arrange  matters 
better  than  we  shall  for  them.” 

And  in  the  evening  Herr  Reichenbach  came  again,  and 
everything  was  arranged. 

“And  that  is  what  the  consultation  was  about!”  said  the 
children,  not  without  some  disappointment.  “It  seems 
such  an  ordinary  thing,”  said  Atlantis,  “we  are  so  used  to 
seeing  Herr  Reichenbach.  He  comes  almost  every  day.” 


178 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


“I  do  not  see  that  that  is  any  objection,”  said  Chriem- 
hild;  “but  it  seems  hardly  like  being  married,  only  just 
to  cross  the  street.  His  house  is  just  opposite.” 

“But  it  is  a great  deal  prettier  than  ours,”  said  Thekla. 
“I  like  Herr  Reichenbach;  no  one  ever  took  such  an  inter- 
est in  my  drawings  as  he  does.  He  tells  me  where  they  are 
wrong,  and  shows  me  how  to  make  them  right,  as  if  he 
really  felt  it  of  some  consequence;  which  it  is,  you  know, 
Else,  because  one  day  I mean  to  embroider  and  help  the 
family,  like  you.  And  no  one  was  ever  so  kind  to  Nix  as 
he  is.  He  took  the  dog  on  his  knee  the  other  day,  and 
drew  out  a splinter  which  had  lamed  him,  which  Nix  would 
not  let  any  one  else  do  but  me.  Nix  is  very  fond  of  Herr 
Reichenbach,  and  so  am  I.  He  is  much  wiser,  I think, 
than  Ulrich,  who  teases  Nix,  and  pretends  never  to  know 
my  cats  from  my  cows;  and  I do  not  see  that  he  is  much 
older;  besides,  I could  not  bear  our  Else  to  live  a step 
further  off.”  And  Thekla  climbed  on  my  lap  and  kissed 
me,  while  Nix  stood  on  his  hind-legs  and  barked,  evidently 
thinking  it  was  a great  occasion.  So  that  two  of  the  family 
at  least  have  given  their  consent. 

But  none  of  the  family  know  yet  what  Herr  Reichen- 
bach said  to  me  when  we  stood  for  a few  minutes  by  the 
window,  before  he  left  this  evening.  He  said: 

“Else,  it  is  God  who  gives  me  this  joy.  Ever  since  the 
evening  when  you  all  arrived  at  Wittenberg,  and  I saw  you 
tenderly  helping  the  aged  and  directing  the  young  ones, 
and  never  flurried  in  all  the  bustle,  but  always  at  leisure  to 
thank  any  one  for  any  little  kindness,  or  to  help  any  one 
out  of  any  little  difficulty,  I thought  you  were  the  light  of 
this  home,  and  I prayed  God  one  day  to  make  you  the  light 
of  mine.” 

Ah!  that  shows  how  love  veils  people’s  faults;  but  he 
did  not  know  Fritz,  and  not  much  of  Eva.  They  were  the 
true  sunshine  of  our  home.  However,  at  all  events,  with 
God’s  help,  I will  do  my  very  best  to  make  Herr  Reichen- 
bach’s  home  bright. 

But  the  best  of  all  is,  I am  not  afraid  to  accept  this  bless- 
ing. I believe  it  is  God,  out  of  his  inexpressible  love,  as 
Dr.  Luther  says,  who  has  given  it  me,  and  I am  not  afraid 
he  will  think  me  too  happy. 

Before  I had  Dr.  Luther  for  my  confessor,  I should  never 
have  known  if  it  was  to  be  a blessing  or  a curse 5 but  now  I 


• THE  8CII0N BERG-GOTTA  FAMILY.  ltfl 

am  not  afraid.  A chain  seems  to  have  dropped  from  my 
heart,  and  a veil  from  my  eyes,  and  I can  call  God  Father, 
and  take  everything  fearlessly  from  him. 

And  I know  Gottfried  feels  the  same.  Since  I never  had 
a vocation  for  the  higher  religious  life,  it  is  an  especial 
mercy  for  me  to  have  found  a religion  which  enables  a poor 
everyday  maiden  in  the  world  to  love  God  and  to  seek  his 
blessing. 

June. 

Our  mother  has  been  full  of  little  tender  apologies  to  me 
this  week,  for  having  called  Gottfried  (Herr  Reichenbach 
says  I am  to  call  him  so)  old,  and  bald,  and  little,  and 
grave. 

“You  know,  darling,  I only  meant  I did  not  want  you  to 
accept  him  for  our  sakes.  And  after  all,  as  you  say,  he  is 
scarcely  bald;  and  they  say  all  men  who  think  much  lose 
their  hair  early;  and  I am  sure  it  is  no  advantage  to  be 
always  talking;  and  every  one  cannot  be  as  tall  as  our  Fritz 
and  Christopher.” 

“And  after  all,  dear  mother,”  said  the  grandmother, 
“Else  did  not  choose  Herr  Reichenbach  for  your  sakes;  but 
are  you  quite  sure  he  did  not  choose  Else  for  her  father’s 
sake?  He  was  always  so  interested  in  the  steam-pump!” 

My  mother  and  I are  much  cheered  by  seeing  the  quiet 
influence  Herr  Reichenbach  seems  to  have  over  Christo- 
pher, whose  companions  and  late  hours  have  often  caused 
us  anxiety  lately.  Christopher  is  not  distrustful  of  him, 
because  he  is  no  priest,  and  no  great  favorer  of  monks  and 
convents;  and  he  is  not  so  much  afraid  of  Christopher  as 
we  timid,  anxious  women,  were  beginning  to  be.  He 
thinks  there  is  good  metal  in  him;  and  he  says  the  best  ore 
cannot  look  like  gold  until  it  is  fused.  It  is  so  difficult  for 
us  women,  who  have  to  watch  from  our  quiet  homes  afar, 
to  distinguish  the  glow  of  the  smelting  furnace  from  the 
glare  of  a conflagration. 

Wittenberg,  September,  1513. 

This  morning,  Herr  Reichenbach,  Christopher,  and 
Ulrich  von  Gersdorf  (who  is  studying  here  for  a time), 
came  in  full  of  excitement,  from  a discussion  they  had  been 
hearing  between  Dr.  Luther  and  some  of  the  doctors  and 
professors  of  Erfurt. 


180 


TEE  SCEONB  ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY. 


I do  not  know  that  I quite  clearly  understand  what  it 
was  about;  but  they  seem  to  think  it  of  great  importance. 

Our  house  has  become  rather  a gathering-place  of  late; 
partly,  I think,  on  account  of  my  father’s  blindness,  which 
always  insures  that  there  will  be  some  one  at  home. 

It  seems  that  Dr.  Luther  attacks  the  old  methods  of 
teaching  in  the  universities,  which  makes  the  older  profes- 
sors look  on  him  as  a dangerous  innovator,  while  the  young 
delight  in  him  as  a hero  fighting  their  battles.  And  yet 
the  authorities  Dr.  Luther  wishes  to  reinstate  are  older 
than  those  he  attacks.  He  demands  that  nothing  shall  be 
received  as  the  standard  of  theological  truth  except  the 
Holy  Scriptures.  I cannot  understand  why  there  should 
be  so  much  conflict  about  this,  because  I thought  all  we 
believed  was  founded  on  the  Holy  Scriptures.  I suppose  it 
is  not;  but  if  not,  on  whose  authority?  I must  ask  Gott- 
fried this  one  day  when  we  are  alone. 

The  discussion  to-day  was  between  Dr.  Andrew  Boden- 
stein,  archdeacon  of  Wittenberg,  Dr.  Luther,  and  Dr. 
Todocus  of  Eisenach,  called  Trutvetter,  his  old  teacher. 
Dr.  Carlstadt  himself,  they  said,  seemed  quite  convinced; 
and  Dr.  Todocus  was  silenced,  and  is  going  back  to  Erfurt. 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  students  is  great.  The  great 
point  of  Dr.  Luther’s  attack  seems  to  be  Aristotle,  who 
was  a heathen  Greek.  I cannot  think  why  these  church 
doctors  should  be  so  eager  to  defend  him;  but  Herr  Reich- 
enbach  says  all  the  teaching  of  the  schools  and  all  the  doc- 
trine of  indulgences  are  in  some  way  founded  on  this 
Aristotle,  and  that  Dr.  Luther  wants  to  clear  away  every- 
thing which  stands  as  a screen  between  the  students  and 
the  Bible. 

Ulrich  von  Gersdorf  said  that  our  doctor  debates  like  his 
uncle,  Franz  von  Sukingen,  fights.  He  stands  like  a rock 
on  some  point  he  feels  firm  on;  and  then,  when  his  op- 
ponents are  weary  of  trying  to  move  him,  he  rushes  sud- 
denly down  on  them,  and  sweeps  them  away  like  a torrent. 

“ But  his  great  secret  seems  to  be,”  remarked  Christo- 
pher, “ that  he  believes  every  word  he  says.  He  speaks  like 
other  men — works  as  if  every  stroke  were  to  tell.” 

And  Gottfried  said,  quietly,  “He  is  fighting  the  battle 
of  God  with  the  scribes  and  Pharisees  of  our  days;  and 
whether  he  triumph  or  perish,  the  battle  will  be  won.  It 
is  a battle,  not  merely  against  falsehood,  but  for  truth,  to 
keep  a position  he  has  won.” 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


181 


“When  I hear  him,”  said  Ulrich,  I wish  my  student  days 
over,  and  long  to  be  in  the  old  castle  in  the  Thuringian 
forest,  to  give  everything  good  there  a new  impulse.  He 
makes  me  feel  the  way  to  fight  the  world’s  great  battles  is 
for  each  to  conquer  the  enemies  of  God  in  his  own  heart 
and  home.  He  speaks  of  Aristotle  and  Augustine;  but  he 
makes  me  think  of  the  sloth  and  tyranny  in  the  castle,  and 
the  misery  and  oppression  in  the  peasant’s  hut,  which  are 
to  me  what  Aristotle  and  the  schoolmen  are  to  him.” 

“And  I,”  said  Christopher,  “when  he  speaks,  think  of 
our  printing-press,  until  my  daily  toil  there  seems  the 
highest  work  I could  do;  and  to  be  a printer,  and  wing 
such  words  as  his  through  the  world,  the  noblest  thing  on 
earth.” 

“ But  his  lectures  fight  the  good  fight  even  more  than  his 
disputations,”  remarked  Gottfried.  In  these  debates  he 
clears  the  world  of  the  foe;  but  in  his  explanations  of  the 
Psalms  and  the  Komans,  he  carries  the  battle  within,  and 
clears  the  heart  of  the  lies  which  kept  it  back  from  God. 
In  his  attacks  on  Aristotle,  he  leads  you  to  the  Bible  as  the 
one  source  of  truth;  in  his  discourses  on  justification  by 
faith,  he  leads  you  to  God  as  the  one  source  of  holiness  and 

“ They  say  poor  Dr.  Todocus  is  quite  ill  with  vexation  at 
his  defeat,”  said  Christopher;  “and  that  there  are  many 
bitter  things  said  against  Dr.  Luther  at  Erfurt.” 

“ What  does  that  matter,”  rejoined  Ulrich,  “since  Wit- 
tenberg is  becoming  every  month  more  thronged  with 
students  from  all  parts  of  Germany,  and  the  Augustinian 
cloister  is  already  full  of  young  monks,  sent  hither  from 
various  convents,  to  study  under  Dr.  Luther!  The  youth 
and  vigor  of  the  nation  an  with  us.  Let  the  dead  bury 
their  dead.” 

“Ah,  children,”  murmured  the  grandmother,  looking  up 
from  her  knitting,  “that  is  a funeral  procession  that  lasts 
long.  The  young  always  speak  of  the  old  as  if  they  had 
been  born  old.  Do  you  think  our  hearts  never  throbbed 
high  with  hope,  and  that  we  never  fought  with  dragons? 
Yet  the  old  serpent  is  not  killed  yet.  Nor  will  he  be  dead 
when  we  are  dead,  and  you  are  old,  and  your  grandchildren 
take  their  place  in  the  old  fight,  and  think  they  are  fight- 
ing the  first  battle  the  world  has  seen,  and  vanquishing  the 
last  enemy.”* 


m 


TUB  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


“Perhaps  not,”  said  Gottfried;  “but  the  last  enemy  will 
be  overcome  at  last,  and  who  knows  how  soon?” 

Wittenberg,  October,  1513. 

It  is  a strong  bond  of  union  between  Herr  Reichenbach 
and  me,  our  reverence  and  love  for  Dr.  Luther. 

He  is  lecturing  now  on  the  Romans  and  the  Psalms,  and 
as  I sit  at  my  spinning-wheel,  or  sew,  Gottfried  often  reads 
to  me  notes  from  these  lectures,  or  tells  me  what  they  have 
been  about.  This  is  a comfort  to  me  also,  because  he  has 
many  thoughts  and  doubts  which,  were  it  not  for  his  friend- 
ship with  Dr.  Luther,  would  make  me  tremble  for  him. 
They  are  so  new  and  strange  to  me;  and  as  it  is,  I never 
venture  to  speak  of  them  to  my  mother. 

He  thinks  there  is  great  need  of  reformations  and 
changes  in  the  church.  He  even  thinks  Christopher  not 
far  from  right  in  his  dislike  of  many  of  the  priests  and 
monks,  who,  he  says,  lead  lives  which  are  a disgrace  to 
Christendom. 

But  his  chief  detestation  is  the  sale  of  indulgences,  now 
preached  in  many  of  the  towns  of  Saxony,  by  Dr.  Tetzel. 
He  says  it  is  a shameless  traffic  in  lies,  and  that  most  men 
of  intelligence  and  standing  in  the  great  cities  think  so. 
And  he  tells  me  that  a very  good  man,  a professor  of  the- 
ology—Dr.  John  Wesel — preached  openly  against  them 
about  fifty  years  ago  at  the  University  of  Erfurt,  and  after- 
ward at  Worms  and  Mainz;  and  that  John  of  Goch  and 
other  holy  men  were  most  earnest  in  denouncing  them. 

And  when  I asked  if  the  pope  did  not  sanction  them,  he 
said  that  to  understand  what  the  pope  is  one  needs  to  go  to 
Rome.  He  went  there  in  his  youth,  not  on  pilgrimage, 
but  on  mercantile  business,  and  he  told  me  that  the  wicked- 
ness he  saw  there,  especially  in  the  family  of  the  reigning 
pope,  the  Borgia,  for  many  years  made  him  hate  the  very 
name  of  religion.  Indeed,  he  said  it  was  principally 
through  Dr.  Luther  that  he  had  begun  again  to  feel  there 
could  be  a religion,  which,  instead  of  being  a cloak  for  sin, 
should  be  an  incentive  to  holiness. 

He  says  also  that  I have  been  quite  mistaken  about 
“ Reinecke  Fuchs;”  that  it  is  no  vulgar  jest-book,  mocking 
at  really  sacred  things,  but  a bitter,  earnest  satire  against 
the  hypocrisy  which  practices  all  kinds  of  sins  in  the  name 
of  sacred  things. 


TEE  SCE ON  BERG- CO  TTA  FAMILY.  183 

He  doubts  even  if  the  Calixtines  and  Hussites  are  as  bad 
as  they  have  been  represented  to  be.  It  alarms  me  some- 
times to  hear  him  say  these  things.  His  world  is  so  much 
larger  than  mine,  it  is  difficult  for  my  thoughts  to  follow 
him  into  it.  If  the  world  is  so  bad,  and  there  is  so  much 
hypocrisy  in  the  holiest  places,  perhaps  I have  been  hard  on 
poor  Christopher  after  all. 

But  if  Fritz  has  found  it  so,  how  unhappy  it  must  make 
him ! 

Can  really  religious  people  like  Fritz  and  Eva  do  nothing 
better  for  the  world,  but  leave  it  and  grow  more  and  more 
corrupt  and  unbelieving,  while  they  sit  apart  to  weave  their 
robes  of  sanctity  in  convents?  It  does  seem  time  for  some- 
thing to  be  done.  I wonder  who  will  do  it? 

I thought  it  might  be  the  pope;  but  Gottfried  shakes  his 
head,  and  says,  “So  good  thing  can  begin  at  Borne.” 

“ Or  the  prelates?”  I asked  one  day. 

“ They  are  too  intent,”  he  said,  “on  making  their  courts 
as  magnificent  as  those  of  the  princes,  to  be  able  to  inter- 
fere with  the  abuses  by  which  their  revenues  are  main- 
tained.” 

“ Or  the  princes?” 

“ The  friendship  of  the  prelates  is  too  important  to  them, 
for  them  to  interfere  in  spiritual  matters.” 

“Or  the  emperor?” 

“The  emperor,”  he  said,  “has  enough  to  do  to  hold  his 
own  against  the  princes,  the  prelates,  and  the  pope.” 

“ Or  the  knights?” 

“The  knights  are  at  war  with  all  the  world,”  he  replied; 
“to  say  nothing  oi  their  ceaseless  private  feuds  with  each 
other.  With  the  peasants  rising  on  one  side  in  wild  insur- 
rection, the  great  nobles  contending  against  their  privilges 
on  the  other,  and  the  great  burgher  families  throwing  their 
barbarous  splendor  into  the  shade  as  much  as  the  city  pal- 
aces do  their  bare  robber  castles,  the  knights  and  petty 
nobles  have  little  but  bitter  words  to  spare  for  the  abuses  of 
the  clergy.  Besides,  most  of  them  have  relations  whom 
they  hope  to  provide  for  with  some  good  abbey.” 

“ Then  the  peasants!”  I suggested.  “Did  not  the  gospel 
first  take  root  among  peasants?” 

“Inspired  peasants  and  fishermen,”  he  replied,  thought- 
fully. “Peasants  Avho  had  walked  up  and  down  the  land 
three  years  in  the  presence  of  the  Master.  But  who  is  to 
teach  our  peasants  now?  They  cannot  read!” 


184 


THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


“Then  it  must  be  the  burghers,”  I said. 

“Each  may  be  prejudiced  in  favor  of  his  order,”  he  re- 
plied, with  a smile;  “but  I think  if  better  days  dawn,  it 
will  be  through  the  cities.  There  the  new  learning  takes 
root;  there  the  rich  have  society  and  cultivation,  and  the 
poor  have  teachers;  and  men’s  minds  are  brightened  by 
contact  and  debate,  and  there  is  leisure  to  think  and  free- 
dom to  speak.  If  a reformation  of  abuses  were  to  begin, 
I think  the  burghers  would  promote  it  most  of  all.” 

“But  who  is  to  begin  it?”  I asked.  “Has  no  one  ever 
tried?” 

“Many  have  tried,”  he  replied,  sadly;  “and  many  have 
perished  in  trying.  While  they  were  assailing  one  abuse, 
others  were  increasing.  Op  while  they  endeavored  to  heal 
some  open  wound,  some  one  arose  and  declared  that  it  was 
impossible  to  separate  the  disease  from  the  whole  frame, 
and  that  they  were  attempting  the  life  of  our  holy  mother 
the  church.” 

“Who,  then,  will  venture  to  begin?”  I said.  “Can  it 
be  Dr.  Luther?  He  is  bold  enough  to  venture  anything; 
and  since  he  has  done  so  much  good  to  Fritz,  and  to  you, 
and  to  me,  why  not  to  the  whole  church?” 

“Dr.  Luther  is  faithful  enough,  and  bold  enough  for 
anything  his  conscience  calls  him  to,”  said  Gottfried;  “but 
he  is  occupied  with  saving  men’s  souls,  not  with  reforming 
ecclesiastical  abuses.” 

“But  if  the  ecclesiastical  abuses  came  to  interfere  with 
the  salvation  of  men’s  souls,”  I suggested,  “ what  would 
Dr.  Luther  do  then?” 

“We  should  see,  Else,”  said  Gottfried.  “If  the  wolves 
attacked  one  of  Dr.  Luther’s  sheep,  I do  not  think  he 
would  care  with  what  weapon  he  rescued  it,  or  at  what 
risk.” 


THE  8CHQNB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


185 


PART  XII. 

EVA’S  STORY. 

Nimptschen,  1517. 

Great  changes  have  taken  place  during  these  last  three 
years  in  Aunt  Cotta’s  home.  Else  has  been  married  more 
than  two  years,  and  sends  me  wonderful  narratives  of  the 
beauty  and  wisdom  of  her  little  Margarethe,  who  begins 
now  to  lisp  the  names  of  mother  and  father  and  aunts, 
Else  has  also  taught  the  little  creature  to  kiss  her  hand  to 
a picture  they  have  of  me,  and  call  it  Cousin  Eva.  They 
will  not  adopt  my  convent  name. 

Chriemhild  also  is  betrothed  to  the  young  knight, 
Ulrich  von  Gersdorf,  who  has  a castle  in  the  Thuringian 
Forest;  and  she  writes  that  they  often  speak  of  Sister  Ave, 
and  that  he  keeps  the  dried  violets  still,  with  a lock  of  his 
mother’s  hair  and  a relic  of  his  patron  saint.  Chriemhild 
says  I should  scarcely  know  him  again,  he  is  become  so 
earnest  and  so  wise,  and  so  full  of  good  purposes. 

And  little  Thekla  writes  that  she  also  understands  some- 
thing of  Latin.  Else’s  husband  has  taught  her;  and' there 
is  nothing  Else  and  Gottfried  Reichenbach  like  so  much  as 
to  hear  her  sing  the  hymns  Cousin  Eva  used  to  sing. 

They  seem  to  think  of  me  as  a kind  of  angel  sister,  who 
was  early  taken  to  God,  and  will  never  grow  old.  It  is 
very  sweet  to  be  remembered  thus;  but  sometimes  it  seems 
as  if  it  were  hardly  me  they  were  remembering  or  loving, 
but  what  I was  or  might  have  been. 

Would  they  recognize  Cousin  Eva  in  the  grave,  quiet 
woman  of  twenty-two  I have  become?  For  while  in  the 
old  home  Time  seems  to  mark  his  course  like  a stream  by 
growth  and  life,  here  in  the  convent  lie  seems  to  mark  it 
only  by  the  slow  falling  of  the  shadow  on  the  silent  dial — 
the  shadow  of  death.  In  the  convent  there  is  no  growth 
but  growing  old. 

In  Aunt  Cotta’s  home  the  year  expanded  from  winter 
into  spring,  and  summer,  and  autumn — seed-time  and  har- 
vest— the  season  of  flowers  and  the  season  of  fruits.  The 
seasons  grew  into  each  other,  we  knew  not  how  or  when. 
In  the  convent  the  year  is  sharply  divided  into  December, 
January,  February,  March,  and  April,  with  nothing  to  dis- 
tinguish one  month  from  another  but  their  names  and 
dates. 


186 


THE  BCIIONBEUQ-GOTTA  FAMIL  Y. 


In  our  old  home  the  day  brightened  from  dawn  to  noon, 
and  then  mellowed  into  sunset,  and  softly  faded  into  night. 
Here  in  the  convent  the  day  is  separated  into  hours  by  the 
clock. 

Sister  Beatrice’s  poor  faded  face  is  slowly  becoming  a lit- 
tle more  faded;  Aunt  Agnes’  a little  more  worn  and  sharp; 
a d I,  like  the  rest,  am  six  years  older  than  I was  six  years 
ago,  when  I came  here;  and  that  is  all. 

It  is  true,  fresh  novices  have  arrived,  and  have  taken  the 
irrevocable  vows,  and  fair  young  faces  are  around  me;  but 
my  heart  aches  sometimes  when  I look  at  them,  and  think 
that  they,  like  the  rest  of  us,  have  closed  the  door  on  life, 
with  all  its  changes,  and  have  entered  on  that  monotonous 
pathway  to  the  grave  whose  stages  are  simply  growing  old. 

Some  of  these  novices  come  full  of  high  aspirations  for  a 
religious  life.  They  have  been  told  about  the  heavenly 
Spouse,  who  will  fill  their  consecrated  hearts  with  pure, 
unutterable  joys,  the  world  can  never  know. 

Many  come  as  sacrifices  to  family  poverty  or  family  pride, 
because  their  noble  parents  are  too  poor  to  maintain  them 
suitably,  or  in  order  that  their  fortunes  may  swell  the 
dower  of  some  married  sister. 

I know  what  disappointment  is  before  them  when  they 
learn  that  the  convent  is  but  a poor,  childish  mimicry  of 
the  world,  with  its  petty  ambitions  and  rivalries,  but  with- 
out the  life  and  the  love.  I know  the  noblest  will  suffer 
most,  and  may,  perhaps,  fall  the  lowest. 

To  narrow,  apathetic  natures,  the  icy  routine  of  habit 
will  more  easily  replace  the  varied  flow  of  life.  They  will 
fit  into  their  harness  sooner,  and  become  as  much  interested 
in  the  gossip  of  the  house  or  the  order,  the  election  of 
superiors,  or  the  scandal  of  some  neighboring  nunnery,  as 
they  would  have  become  in  the  gossip  of  the  town  or  village 
they  would  have  lived  in,  in  the  world. 

But  warm  hearts  and  high  spirits — these  will  chafe  and 
struggle,  and  dream  they  have  reached  depths  of  self-abase- 
ment or  soared  to  heights  of  mystical  devotion,  and  then 
awake,  with  bitter  self-reproaches,  to  find  themselves  too 
weak  to  cope  with  some  small  temptation,  like  Aunt  Agnes. 

These  I will  help  all  I can.  But  I have  learned,  since  I 
came  to  Niinptsehen,  that  it  is  a terrible  and  perilous 
thing  to  take  the  work  of  the  training  of  our  souls  out  of 
God’s  hands  into  our  own.  The  pruning-knife  in  his 


THE  SCHONB ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


187 


hands  must  sometimes  wound  and  seem  to  impoverish;  but 
in  ours  it  cuts,  and  wounds,  and  impoverishes,  and  does 
not  prune.  We  can,  indeed,  inflict  pain  on  ourselves;  hut 
God  alone  can  make  pain  healing,  or  suffering  discipline. 

I can  only  pray  that,  however  mistaken  many  may  be 
in  immuring  themselves  here,  Thou  who  art  the  good  phy- 
sician wilt  take  us,  with  all  our  useless,  self-inflicted  wounds, 
and  all  our  wasted,  self-stunted  faculties,  and  as  we  are  and 
as  Thou  art,  still  train  us  for  Thyself. 

The  infirmary  is  what  interests  me  most.  Having 
secluded  ourselves  from  all  the  joys  and  sorrows  and  vicis- 
situdes of  common  life,  we  seem  scarcely  to  have  left  any- 
thing in  God’s  hands,  wherewith  to  try  our  faith  and  sub- 
due our  wills  to  his,  except  sickness.  Bereavements  we 
cannot  know  who  have  bereaved  ourselves  of  all  companion- 
ship with  our  beloved  for  evermore  on  earth.  Nor  can  we 
know  the  trials  either  of  poverty  or  of  prosperity,  since  we 
can  never  experience  either;  but,  having  taken  the  vow  of 
voluntary  poverty  on  ourselves,  while  we  can  never  call 
anything  individually  our  own,  we  are  freed  from  all  anx- 
ieties by  becoming  members  of  a richly  endowed  order. 

Sickness  only  remains  beyond  our  control;  and,  there-  * 
fore,  when  I see  any  of  the  sisterhood  laid  on  the  bed  of 
suffering,  I think : 

“ God  has  laid  thee  there!”  and  I feel  more  sure  that  it  is 
the  right  thing. 

I still  instruct  the  novices;  but  sometimes  the  dreary 
question  comes  to  me: 

“For  what  am  I instructing  them?” 

Life  has  no  future  for  them — only  a monotonous  prolong- 
ing of  the  monotonous  present. 

I try  to  feel,  “I  am  training  them  for  eternity.”  But 
who  can  do  that  but  God,  who  inhabiteth  eternity,  and  sees 
the  links  which  connect  every  moment  of  the  little  circles 
of  time  with  the  vast  circumference  of  the  everlasting 
future? 

But  I do  my  best.  Catharine  von  Bora,  a young  girl  of 
sixteen,  who  has  lately  entered  the  covent,  interests  me 
deeply.  There  is  such  strength  in  her  character  and  such 
warmth  in  her  heart.  But  alas!  wliat  scope  is  there  for 
these  here? 

Aunt  Agnes  has  not  opened  her  heart  in  any  way  to  me. 
True,  when  I was  ill,  she  watched  over  me  as  tenderly  as 


188 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Aunt  Cotta  could;  but  when  I recovered,  she  seemed  to 
repel  all  demonstrations  of  gratitude  and  affection,  and 
went  on  with  that  round  of  penances  and  disciplines,  which 
make  the  nuns  reverence  her  as  so  especially  saintly. 

Sometimes  I look  with  longing  to  the  smoke  and  light 
in  the  village  we  can  see  among  the  trees  from  the  upper 
windows  of  the  convent.  I know  that  each  little  wreath  of 
smoke  comes  from  the  hearth  of  a home  where  there  are 
father  and  mother  and  little  children;  and  the  smoke 
wreaths  seem  to  me  to  rise  like  holy  clouds  of  incense  to 
God  our  Father  in  heaven. 

But  the  alms  given  so  liberally  by  the  sisterhood  are  given 
at  the  convent-gate,  so  that  we  never  form  any  closer  con- 
nection with  the  poor  around  us  than  that  of  beggars  and 
almoners;  and  I long  to  be  their  friend. 

Sometimes  I am  afraid  I acted  in  impatient  self-will  in 
leaving  Aunt  Cotta’s  home,  and  that  I should  have  served 
God  better  by  remaining  there,  and  that,  after  all,  my  de- 
parture may  have  left  some  little  blank  it  would  not  have 
been  useless  to  fill.  As  the  girls  marry,  Aunt  Cotta  might 
have  found  me  a comfort;  and,  as  “Cousin  Eva,”  I might 
# perhaps  have  been  more  of  a help  to  Else’s  children  than  I 
can  be  to  the  nuns  here  as  Sister  Ave.  But  whatever 
might  have  been,  it  is  impatience  and  rebellion  to  think  of 
that  now;  and  nothing  can  separate  me  from  God  and  his 
love. 

Somehow  or  other,  however,  even  the  “Theologia  Ger- 
maniea,”  and  the  high,  disinterested  communion  with  God 
it  teaches,  seemed  sweeter  to  me,  in  the  intervals  of  an  in- 
terrupted and  busy  life,  than  as  the  business  of  this 
uninterrupted  leisure.  The  hours  of  contemplation  were 
more  blessed  for  the  very  trials  and  occupations  which 
seemed  to  hinder  them. 

Sometimes  I feel  as  if  my  heart  also  were  freezing,  and 
becoming  set  and  hard.  I am  afraid,  indeed,  it  would, 
were  it  not  for  poor  Sister  Beatrice,  who  has  had  a para- 
lytic stroke,  and  is  now  a constant  inmate  of  the  infirmary. 
She  speaks  at  times  very  incoherently,  and  cannot  think  at 
any  time  connectedly.  But  I have  found  a book  which 
interests  her;  it  is  the  Latin  Gospel  of  St.  Luke,  which  I 
am  allowed  to  take  from  the  convent  library  and  translate 
to  her.  The  narratives  are  so  brief  and  simple,  she  can 
comprehend  them,  and  she  never  wearies  of  hearing  them. 


THE  SCHONBEUG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


189 

The  very  familiarity  endears  them,  and  to  me  they  are 
always  new. 

But  it  is  very  strange  that  there  is  nothing  about  pen- 
ance or  vows  in  it,  or  the  adoration  of  the  blessed  virgin. 
I suppose  I shall  find  that  in  the  other  gospels,  or  in  the 
Epistles,  which  were  written  after  our  lady’s  assumption 
into  heaven. 

Sister  Beatrice  likes  much  to  hear  me  sing  the  hymn  by 
Bernard  of  Clugni,  on  the  perpetuity  of  joy  in  heaven : * 

Here  brief  is  the  sighing, 

And  brief  is  the  crying, 

For  brief  is  the  life! 

The  life  there  is  endless, 

The  joy  there  is  endless, 

And  ended  the  strife. 

What  joys  are  in  heaven? 

To  whom  are  they  given? 

Ah!  what?  and  to  whom? 

The  stars  to  the  earth-born, 

“ Best  robes  ” to  the  sin-worn, 

The  crown  for  the  doom! 

Oh  country  the  fairest! 

Our  country  the  dearest. 

We  press  toward  thee! 

Oh  Sion  the  golden! 

Our  eyes  now  are  holden. 

The  light  till  we  see: 

Thy  crystalline  ocean, 

Unvexed  by  commotion, 

Thy  fountain  of  life; 

Thy  deep  peace  unspoken, 

Pure,  sinless,  unbroken — 

Thy  peace  beyond  strife: 

Thy  meek  saints  all  glorious, 

Thy  martyrs  victorious, 

Who  suffer  no  more; 

Thy  halls  full  of  singing, 

Thy  hymns  ever  ringing 
Along  thy  safe  shore% 


* Hie  breve  vivitur,  hie  breve  plangitur,  hie  breve  fletur. 
Non  breve  vivere,  non  breve  plangere,  retribuetur. 

O retributio!  stat  brevis  actio,  vita  perennis, 

Q retributio!  coelica  mansio  stat  lue  plenis, 
etc.,  etc.,  etc. 


190 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Like  the  lily'  for  whiteness, 

Like  the  jewel  for  brightness, 

Thy  vestments,  oh  Bride! 

The  Lamb  ever  with  thee, 

The  Bridegroom  is  with  thee — 

With  thee  to  abide! 

We  know  not,  we  know  not, 

All  human  words  show  not. 

The  joys  we  may  reach; 

The  mansions  preparing, 

The  joys  for  our  sharing, 

The  welcome  for  each. 

Oh  Sion  the  golden ! 

My  eyes  still  are  holden, 

Thy  light  till  I see; 

And  deep  in  thy  glory, 

Unveiled  then  before  me, 

My  King,  look  on  thee! 

April,  1517. 

The  whole  of  the  Augustinian  order  of  Saxony  has  been 
greatly  moved  by  the  visitation  of  Dr.  Martin  Luther.  He 
has  been  appointed  deputy  vicar-general  in  the  place  of  Dr. 
Staupitz,  who  has  gone  on  a mission  to  the  Netherlands,  to 
collect  relics  for  the  Elector  Frederic’s  new  church  at 
Wittenberg. 

Last  April  Dr.  Luther  visited  the  monastery  of  Grimma, 
not  far  from  us;  and  through  our  prioress,  who  is  con- 
nected with  the  prior  of  Grimma,  we  hear  much  about  it. 

He  strongly  recommends  the  study  of  the  Scriptures  and 
of  St.  Augustine,  in  preference  to  every  other  book,  by  the 
brethren  and  sisters  of  his  order.  We  have  begun  to  follow 
his  advice  in  our  convent,  and  a new  impulse  seems  given 
to  everything.  I have  also  seen  two  beautiful  letters  of  Dr. 
Martin  Luther’s,  written  to  two  brethren  of  the  Augus- 
tinian Order.  Both  were  written  in  April  last,  and  they 
have  been  read  by  many  among  us.  The  first  was  to 
Brother  George  Spenlein,  a monk  at  Memmingen.  It  be- 
gins, “In  the  name  of  Jesus  Christ.”  After  speaking  of 
some  private  pecuniary  matters,  he  writes: 

“As  to  the  rest,  I desire  to  know  how  it  goes  with  thy 
soul;  whether,  weary  of  its  own  righteousness,  it  learns  to 
breathe  and  to  trust  in  the  righteousness  of  Christ.  For 
in  our  age  the  temptation  to  presumption  burns  in  many, 


THE  SGH ONB ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY. 


191 


and  chiefly  in  those  who  are  trying  with  all  their  might  to 
be  just  and  good.  Ignorant  of  the  righteousness  of  God, 
which  in  Christ  is  given  to  us  richly  and  without  price, 
they  seek  in  themselves  to  do  good  works,  so  that  at  last 
they  may  have  confidence  to  stand  before  God,  adorned 
with  merits  and  virtues — which  is  impossible.  Thou,  when 
with  us,  wert  of  this  opinion,  and  so  was  I;  but  now  I 
contend  against  this  error,  although  I have  not  yet  con- 
quered it. 

“ Therefore,  my  dear  brother,  learn  Christ  and  him  cru- 
cified; learn  to  sing  to  him,  and,  despairing  of  thyself,  to 
say  to  him,  ‘Lord  Jesus,  thou  art  my  righteousness,  but  I 
am  thy  sin.  Thou  hast  taken  me  upon  thyself,  and  given 
to  me  what  is  thine;  thou  hast  taken  on  thee  what  thou 
wast  not,  and  hast  given  to  me  what  I was  not.’  Take  care 
not  to  aspire  to  such  a purity  that  thou  shalt  no  longer 
seem  to  thyself  a sinner;  for  Christ  does  not  dwell  except 
in  sinners.  For  this  he  descended  from  heaven,  where  he 
abode  with  the  just,  that  he  might  abide  with  sinners. 
Meditate  on  this  love  of  his,  and  thou  shalt  drink  in  his 
sweet  consolations.  For  if,  by  our  labors  and  afflictions, 
we  could  attain  quiet  of  conscience,  why  did  he  die? 
Therefore,  only  in  him,  by  a believing  self-despair  both  of 
thyself  and  of  thy  works,  wilt  thou  find  peace.  For  he  has 
made  thy  sins  his,  and  his  righteousness  he  has  made 
thine.” 

Aunt  Agnes  seemed  to  drink  in  these  words  like  a patient 
in  a raging  fever.  She  made  me  read  them  over  to  her 
again  and  again,  and  then  translate  and  copy  them ; and 
now  she  carries  them  about  with  her  everywhere. 

To  me  the  words  that  follow  are  as  precious.  Dr. 
Luther  says,  that  as  Christ  hath  borne  patiently  with  us 
wanderers,  we  should  also  bear  with  others.  “Prostrate 
thyself  before  the  Lord  Jesus,”  he  writes,  “seek  all  that 
thou  lackest.  He  himself  will  teach  thee  all,  even  to  do 
for  others  as  he  has  done  for  thee.” 

The  second  letter  was  to  Brother  George  Leiffer  of  Er- 
furt. It  speaks  of  affliction  thus: 

“The  cross  of  Christ  is  divided  throughout  the  whole 
world.  To  each  his  portion  comes  in  time,  and  does  not 
fail.  Thou,  therefore,  do  not  seek  to  cast  thy  portion  from 
thee,  but  rather  receive  it  as  a holy  relic,  to  be  enshrined, 
not  in  a gold  or  silver  reliquary,  but  in  the  sanctuary  of  & 


192 


THE  &C HONE  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY \ 


golden,  that  is,  a loving  and  submissive  heart.  For  if  the 
wood  of  the  cross  was  so  consecrated  by  contact  with  the 
flesh  and  blood  of  Christ  that  it  is  considered  as  the  noblest 
of  relics,  how  much  more  are  injuries,  persecutions,  suffer- 
ings, and  the  hatred  of  men,  sacred  relies,  consecrated  not 
by  the  touch  of  his  body,  but  by  contact  with  his  most  lov- 
ing heart  and  Godlike  will!  These  we  should  embrace, 
and  bless,  and  cherish,  since  through  him  the  curse  is 
transmuted  into  blessing,  suffering  into  glory,  the  cross 
into  joy.” 

Sister  Beatrice  delights  in  these  words,  and  murmurs 
them  over  to  herself  as  I have  explained  them  to  her. 
“Yes,  I understand;  this  sickness,  helplessness,  all  I have 
lost  and  suffered,  are  sacred  relics  from  my  Saviour;  not 
because  he  forgets,  but  because  he  remembers  me — he  re- 
members me.  Sister  Ave,  I am  content.” 

And  then  she  likes  me  to  sing  her  favorite  hymn,  Jesu 
dulcis  memoria: 

Oh  Jesus!  thy  sweet  memory 
Can  fill  the  heart  with  ecstasy; 

But  passing  all  things  sweet  that  be, 

Thy  presence,  Lord,  to  me. 

What  hope,  oh  Jesus,  thou  canst  render 
To  those  who  other  hopes  surrender! 

To  those  who  seek  thee,  oh  how  tender! 

But  what  to  those  who  find! 

With  Mary,  ere  the  morning  break. 

Him  at  the  sepulcher  I seek — 

Would  hear  him  to  my  spirit  speak, 

And  see  him  with  my  heart. 

Wherever  I may  chance  to  be, 

Thee  first  my  heart  desires  to  see; 

How  glad  when  I discover  thee; 

How  blest  when  I retain! 

Beyond  all  treasures  is  thy  grace; 

Oh,  when  wilt  thou  thy  steps  retrace. 

And  satisfy  me  with  thy  face, 

And  make  me  wholly  glad? 

Then  come,  oh,  come,  thou  perfect  King, 

Of  boundless  glory,  boundless  spring; 

Arise,  and  fullest  daylight  bring, 

Jesus,  expected  longij 


THE  8GE ONB Ell G-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


193 


May,  1517. 

Aunt  Agnes  has  spoken  to  me  at  last.  Abruptly  and 
sternly,  as  if  more  angry  with  herself  than  repenting  or 
rejoicing,  she  said  to  me  this  morning,  “Child,  those  words 
of  Dr.  Luther’s  have  searched  my  heart.  I have  been  try- 
ing all  my  life  to  be  a saint,  and  so  to  reach  God.  And  I 
have  failed  utterly.  And  now  I learn  that  I am  a sinner, 
and  yet  that  God’s  love  reaches  me.  The  cross,  the  cross 
of  Christ,  is  my  pathway  from  hell  to  heaven.  I am  not 
a "Saint.  I shall  never  be  a saint.  Christ  is  the  only  Saint, 
the  Holy  One  of  God;  and  he  has  borne  my  sins,  and  he  is 
my  righteousness.  He  has  done  it  all;  aucl  I have  nothing 
left  but  to  give  him  all  the  glory,  and  to  love,  to  love,  to 
love  him  to  all  eternity.  And  I will  do  it,”  she  added  fer- 
vently, “poor,  proud,  destitute,  and  sinful  creature  that  1 
am.  I cannot  help  it;  I must.” 

But  strong  and  stern  as  the  words  were,  how  changed 
Aunt  Agnes’  manner!  humble  and  simple  as  a child’s. 
And  as  she  left  me  for  some  duty  in  the  house,  she  kissed 
my  forehead,  and  said,  “Ah,  child,  love  me  a little,  if  you 
can,  not  as  a saint,  but  as  a poor,  sinful  old  woman,  who 
among  her  worst  sins  has  counted  loving  thee  too  much, 
which  was  perhaps,  after  all,  among  the  least;  love  me  a 
little,  Eva,  for  my  sister’s  sake,  whom  you  love  so  much.” 

else’s  story. 

August,  1517. 

Yes,  our  little  Gretchen  is  certainly  a remarkable  child. 
Although  she  is  not  yet  two  years  old,  she  knows  all  of  us 
by  name.  She  tyrannizes  over  us  all,  except  me.  I deny 
her  many  things  which  she  cries  for;  except  when  Gott- 
fried is  present,  who,  unfortunately,  cannot  bear  to  see  her 
unhappy  for  a moment,  and  having  {he  says)  had  his  tem- 
per spoiled  in  infancy  by  a cross  nurse,  has  no  notion  of 
infant  education,  except  to  avoid  contradiction.  Christo- 
pher, who  always  professed  a supreme  contempt  for  babies, 
gives  her  rides  on  his  shoulder  in  the  most  submissive 
manner.  But  best  of  all,  I love  to  see  her  sitting  on  my 
blind  father’s  knee,  and  stroking  his  face  with  a kind  of 
tender,  pitiful  reverence,  as  if  she  felt  there  was  something 
missing  there. 


191 


THE  SGHONB ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY. 


I have  taught  her,  too,  to  say  Fritz’s  name,  when  I show 
her  the  little  lock  I wear  of  his  hair;  and  to  kiss  Eva’s 
picture. 

I cannot  bear  that  they  should  be  as  lost  or  dead  to  her. 
But  I am  afraid  she  is  perplexed  between  Eva’s  portrait  and 
the  picture  of  the  holy  virgin,  which  I teach  her  to  bow 
and  cross  her  forehead  before;  because  sometimes  she  tries 
to  kiss  the  picture  of  our  lady,  and  to  twist  her  little  fin- 
gers into  the  sacred  sign  before  Eva’s  likeness.  However, 
by  and  by  she  will  distinguish  better.  And  are  not  Eva 
and  Fritz  indeed  our  family  saints  and  patrons?  I do  be- 
lieve their  prayers  bring  down  blessings  on  us  all. ' 

For  our  family  has  been  so  much  blessed  lately!  The 
dear  mother’s  face  looks  so  bright,  and  has  regained  some- 
thing of  its  old  sweet  likeness  to  the  mother  of  mercy. 
And  I am  so  happy,  so  brimful  of  happiness.  And  it  cer- 
tainly does  make  me  feel  more  religious  than  I did. 

Not  the  home-happiness  only,  I mean,  but  that  best 
blessing  of  all,  that  came  first,  before  I knew  that  Gott- 
fried cared  for  me — the  knowledge  of  the  love  of  God  to 
me,  that  best  riches  of  all,  without  which  all  our  riches 
would  be  mere  cares — the  riches  of  the  treasury  of  God 
freely  opened  to  us  in  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord. 

Gottfried  is  better  than  I ever  thought  he  was.  Perhaps 
he  really  grows  better  every  year;  certainly  he  seems  better 
and  dearer  to  me. 

Chriemhild  and  Ulrich  are  to  be  married  very  soon.  He 
is  gone  now  to  see  Franz  von  Sickingen,  and  his  other  re- 
lations in  the  Rhineland,  and  to  make  arrangements  con- 
nected with  his  marriage.  Last  year  Chriemhild  and 
Atlantis  stayed  some  weeks  at  the  old  castle  in  the  Thurin- 
gian  Forest,  near  Eisenach.  A wild  life  it  seemed  to  be, 
from  their  description,  deep  in  the  heart  of  the  forest,  in 
a lonely  fortress  on  a rock,  with  only  a few  peasants’  huts 
in  sight;  and  with  all  kinds  of  strange  legends  of  demon 
huntsmen,  and  elves,  and  sprites  haunting  the  neighbor- 
hood. To  me  it  seems  almost  as  desolate  as  the  wilderness 
where  John  the  Baptist  lived  on  locusts  and  wild  honey; 
but  Chriemhild  thought  it  delightful.'  She  made  acquaint- 
ance with  some  of  the  poor  peasants,  and. they  seemed  to 
think  her  an  angel — an  opinion  (Atlantis  says)  shared  by 
Ulrich’s  old  uncle  and  aunt,  to  say  nothing  of  Ulrich  him- 
self. At  first  the  aged  Aunt  Hermentrud  was  rather  dis- 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


195 


tant;  but  on  the  Schonberg  pedigree  having  been  duly 
tested  and  approved,  the  old  lady  at  length  considered  her- 
self free  to  give  vent  to  her  feelings,  while  the  old  knight 
courteously  protested  that  he  had  always  seen  Chriemhild’s 
pedigree  in  her  face. 

And  Ulrich  says  there  is  one  great  advantage  in  the  soli- 
tude and  strength  of  his  castle — he  could  offer  an  asylum  at 
any  time  to  Dr.  Luther,  who  has  of  late  become  an  object 
of  bitter  hatred  to  some  of  the  priests. 

Dr.  Luther  is  most  kind  to  our  little  Gretchen,  whom 
he  baptized.  He  says  little  children  often  understand  God 
better  than  the  wisest  doctors  of  divinity. 

Thekla  has  experienced  her  first  sorrow.  Her  poor  little 
foundling,  Nix,  is  dead.  For  some  days  the  poor  creature 
had  been  ailing,  and  at  last  he  lay  for  some  hours  quiver- 
ing, as  if  with  inward  convulsions;  yet  at  Thekla’s  voice 
the  dull,  glassy  eyes  would  brighten,  and  he  would  wag  his 
tail  feebly  as  he  lay  on  his  side.  At  last  he  died ; and 
Thekla  was  not  to  be  comforted,  but  sat  apart  and  shed 
bitter  tears.  The  only  thing  which  cheered  her  was  Chris- 
topher’s making  a grave  in  the  garden  for  Nix,  under  the 
pear  tree  where  I used  to  sit  at  embroidery  in  summer,  as 
now  she  does.  It  was  of  no  use  to  try  to  laugh  her  out  of 
her  distress.  Her  lip  quivered  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears  if  any  one  attempted  it.  Atlantis  spoke  seriously  to 
her  on  the  duty  of  a little  girl  of  twelve  beginning  to  put 
away  childish  things;  and  even  the  gentle  mother  tenderly 
remonstrated,  and  said  one  day,  when  Dr.  Luther  had 
asked  her  for  her  favorite,  and  had  been  answered  by  a 
burst  of  tears,  “My  child,  if  you  mourn  so  for  a dog,  what 
will  you  do  when  real  sorrows  come?” 

But  Dr.  Luther  seemed  to  understand  Thekla  better 
than  any  of  us,  and  to  take  her  part.  He  said  she  was  a 
child,  and  her  childish  sorrows  were  no  more  trifles  to  her 
than  our  sorrows  are  to  us;  that  from  heaven  we  might 
probably  look  on  the  fall  of  an  empire  as  of  less  moment 
than  we  now  thought  the  death  of  Thekla’s  dog;  yet  that 
the  angels  who  look  down  on  us  from  heaven  do  not  de- 
spise our  little  joys  and  sorrows,  nor  should  we  those  of  the 
little  ones;  or  words  to  this  effect.  He  has  a strange  sym- 
pathy with  the  hearts  of  children.  Thekla  was  so  encour- 
aged by  his  compassion  that  she  crept  close  to  him  and  laid 
her  hand  in  his,  and  said,  with  a look  of  wistful  earnest- 


196 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


ness,  “Will  Nix  rise  again  at  the  last  day?  Will  there  be 
dogs  in  the  other  world?” 

Many  of  us  were  appalled  at  such  an  irreverent  idea;  but 
Dr.  Luther  did  not  seem  to  think  it  irreverent.  He  said, 
“We  know  less  of  what  that  other  world  will  be  than  this 
little  one,  or  than  that  babe,”  he  added,  pointing  to  my 
little  Gretchen,  “knows  of  the  empires  or  powers  of  this 
world.  But  of  this  we  are  sure,  the  world  to  come  will  be 
no  empty,  lifeless  waste.  See  how  full  and  beautiful  the 
Lord  God  has  made  all  things  in  this  passing,  perishing 
world  of  heaven  and  earth!  How  much  more  beautiful, 
then,  will  he  make  that  eternal,  incorruptible  world ! God 
will  make  new  heavens  and  a new  earth.  All  poisonous, 
and  malicious,  and  hurtful  creatures  will  be  banished 
thence — all  that  our  sin  has  ruined.  All  creatures  will  not 
only  be  harmless,  but  lovely,  and  pleasant,  and  joyful,  so 
that  we  might  play  with  them.  4 The  sucking  child  shall 
ply  on  the  hole  of  the  asp,  and  the  weaned  child  shall  put 
his  hand  on  the  cockatrice’s  den.’  Why,  then,  should 
there  not  be  little  dogs  in  the  new  earth,  whose  skin  might 
be  fair  as  gold,  and  their  hair  as  bright  as  precious  stones?” 

Certainly,  in  Thekla’s  eyes,  from  that  moment  there  has 
been  no  doctor  of  divinity  like  Dr.  Luther.* 

Torgau,  November  10,  1516. 

The  plague  is  at  Wittenberg.  We  have  all  taken  refuge 
here.  The  university  is  scattered,  and  many,  also,  of  the 
Augustinian  monks. 

Dr.  Luther  remains  in  the  convent  at  Wittenberg.  We 
have  seen  a copy  of  a letter  of  his,  dated  the  26th  October, 
and  addressed  to  the  Venerable  Father  John  Lange,  Prior 
of  Erfurt  Monastery. 

“Health.  I have  need  of  two  secretaries  or  chancellors, 
since  all  day  long  I do  nothing  but  write  letters;  and  I 
know  not  whether,  always  writing,  I may  not  sometimes 
repeat  the  same  things.  Thou  wilt  see. 

44 1 am  convent  lecturer;  reader  at  meals;  I am  desired 
to  be  daily  parish  preacher;  I am  director  of  studies,  vicar 
(i.e.,  prior  eleven  times  over),  inspector  of  the  fish-ponds 
at  Litzkau,  advocate  of  the  cause  of  the  people  of  Herzberg 
at  Torgau,  lecturer  on  Paul  and  on  the  Psalms;  besides  what 
I have  said  already  of  my  constant  correspondence.  I have 
rarely  time  to  recite  my  canonical  hours,  to  say  nothing  of 


THE  SCHOHB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY,  197 

my  own  particular  temptations  from  the  world,  the  flesh, 
and  the  devil.  See  what  a man  of  leisure  I am ! 

“Concerning  Brother  John  Metzel  I believe  you  have 
already  received  my  opinion.  I will  see,  however,  what  I 
can  do.  How  can  you  think  I can  find  room  for  your 
Sardanapaluses  and  Sybarites?  If  you  have  educated  them 
ill,  you  must  bear  with  those  you  have  educated  ill.  I have 
enough  useless  brethren;  if,  indeed,  any  are  useless  to  a 
patient  heart.  I am  persuaded  that  the  useless  may  become 
more  useful  than  those  who  are  the  most  useful  now. 
Therefore  bear  with  them  for  the  time. 

“I  think  I have  already  written  to  you  about  the  brethren 
you  sent  me.  Some  I have  sent  to  Magister  Spangenburg, 
as  they  requested,  to  save  their  breathing  this  pestilential 
air.  With  two  from  Cologne  I felt  such  sympathy,  and 
thought  so  much  of  their  abilities,  that  I have  retained 
them,  although  at  much  expense.  Twenty-two  priests, 
forty-two  youths,  and  in  the  university  altogether  forty-two 
persons  are  supported  out  of  our  poverty.  But  the  Lord 
will  provide. 

“ You  say  that  yesterday  you  began  to  lecture  on  the  sen- 
tences. To-morrow  I begin  the  Epistle  to  the  Galatians; 
although  I fear  that,  with  the  plague  among  us  as  it  is,  I 
shall  not  be  able  to  continue.  The  plague  has  taken  away 
already  two  or  three  among  us,  but  not  all  in  one  day;  and 
the  son  of  our  neighbor  Eaber,  yesterday  in  health,  to-day 
is  dead;  and  another  is  infected.  What  shall  I say?  It  is 
indeed  here,  and  begins  to  rage  with  great  cruelty  and  sud- 
denness, especially  among  the  young.  You  would  persuade 
me  and  Master  Bartholomew  to  take  refuge  with  you.  Why 
should  I flee?  I hope  the  world  would  not  collapse  if 
Brother  Martin  fell.  If  the  pestilence  spreads,  I will  in- 
deed disperse  the  monks  throughout  the  land.  As  for  me, 
I have  been  placed  here.  My  obedience  as  a monk  does  not 
suffer  me  to  fly ; since  what  obedience  required  once,  it  de- 
mands still.  Not  that  I do  not  fear  death  (I  am  not  the 
Apostle  Paul,  but  only  the  reader  of  the  Apostle  Paul), 
but  I hope  the  Lord  will  deliver  me  from  my  fear. 

“Farewell;  and  be  mindful  of  us  in  this  day  of  the  visi- 
tation of  the  Lord,  to  whom  be  glory.” 

This  letter  has  strengthened  me  and  many.  Yes,  if  it 
had  been  our  duty,  I trust,  like  Dr.  Luther,  we  should 
have  had  courage  to  remain.  The  courage  of  his  act 


198 


THE  SGIIONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


strengthens  us;  and  also  the  confession  of  fear  in  his 
words.  It  does  not  seem  a fear  which  hath  torment  or 
which  fetters  his  spirit.  It  does  not  even  crush  his  cheer- 
fulness. It  is  a natural  fear  of  dying,  which  I also  cannot 
overcome.  From  me,  then,  as  surely  from  him,  when  God 
sees  it  time  to  die,  He  will  doubtless  remove  the  dread  of 
death. 

This  season  of  the  pestilence  recalls  so  much  to  me  of 
what  happened  when  the  plague  last  visited  us  at  Eisenach ! 

We  have  lost  some  since  then,  if  I ought  to  call  Eva  and 
Fritz  lost.  But  how  my  life  has  been  enriched!  My  hus- 
band, our  little  Gretchen;  and  then  so  much  outward 
prosperity!  All  that  pressure  of  poverty  and  daily  care  en- 
tirely gone,  and  so  much  wherewith  to  help  others!  And 
yet,  am  I so  entirely  free  from  care  as  I thought  to  be? 
Am  I not  even  at  times  more  burdened  with  it? 

When  first  I married,  and  had  Gottfried  on  whom  to 
unburden  every  perplexity,  and  riches  which  seemed  to  me  in- 
exhaustible, instead  of  poverty,  I thought  I should  never 
know  care  again. 

But  is  it  so?  Have  not  the  very  things  themselves,  in 
their  possession,  become  cares?  When  I hear  of  these 
dreadful  wars  with  the  Turks,  and  of  the  insurrections  and 
disquiets  in  various  parts,  and  look  round  on  our  pleasant 
home,  and  gardens,  and  fields,  I think  how  terrible  it  would 
be  again  to  be  plunged  into  poverty,  or  that  Gretchen 
ever  should  be;  so  that  riches  themselves  become  cares.  It 
makes  me  think  of  what  a good  man  once  told  me:  that 
the  word  in  the  Bible  which  is  translated  “rich”  in  speak- 
ing of  Abraham,  in  other  places  is  translated  “heavy;”  so 
that  instead  of  reading,  “Abraham  left  Egypt  rich  in  cat- 
tle and  silver  and  gold,”  we  might  read  “ heavy  in  cattle, 
silver,  and  gold.” 

Yes,  we  are  on  a pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  City;  we  are  in 
flight  from  an  evil  world;  and  too  often  riches  are  weights 
which  hinder  our  progress. 

I find  it  good,  therefore,  to  be  here  in  the  small,  humble 
house  we  have  taken  refuge  in — Gottfried,  Gretchen,  and 
I.  The  servants  are  dispersed  elsewhere;  and  it  lightens 
my  heart  to  feel  how  well  we  can  do  without  luxuries  which 
were  beginning  to  seem  like  necessaries.  Dr.  Luther’s 
wrords  come  to  my  mind:“  The  covetous  enjoy  what  they 
have  as  little  as  what  they  have  not.  They  cannot  even 


THE  SCHON  BERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 199 

rejoice  in  the  sunshine.  They  think  not  what  a noble  gift 
the  light  is — what  an  inexpressibly  great  treasure  the  sun 
is,  which  shines  freely  on  all  the  world.” 

Yes,  God’s  common  gifts  are  his  most  precious;  and  his 
most  precious  gifts — even  life  itself — have  no  root  in  them- 
selves, Not  that  they  are  without  root;  they  are  better 
rooted  in  the  depths  of  his  unchangeable  love. 

It  is  well  to  be  taught,  by  such  a visitation,  even  as  this 
pestilence,  the  utter  insecurity  of  everything  here.  “ If 
the  ship  itself,”  as  Gottfried  says,  “is  exposed  to  shipwreck, 
who,  then,  can  secure  the  cargo?”  Henceforth  let  me  be 
content  with  the  only  security  Dr.  Luther  says  God  will 
give  us — the  security  of  his  presence  and  care : “/  will 

never  leave  thee” 


Wittenberg,  June,  1517. 

We  are  at  home  once  more;  and,  thank  God,  our  two 
households  are  undiminished,  save  by  one  death — that  of 
our  youngest  sister,  the  baby  when  we  left  Eisenach.  The 
professor  and  students  also  have  returned.  Dr.  Luther, 
who  remained  here  all  the  time,  is  preaching  with  more 
force  and  clearness. 

The  town  is  greatly  divided  in  opinion  about  him.  Dr. 
Tetzel,  the  great  papal  commissioner  for  the  sale  of  indul- 
gences, has  established  his  red  cross,  announcing  the  sale 
of  pardons,  for  some  months,  at  Jiiterbok  and  Zerbst,  not 
far  from  Wittenberg. 

Numbers  of  the  townspeople,  alarmed,  I suppose,  by  the 
pestilence,  into  anxiety  about  their  souls,  have  repaired  to 
Dr.  Tetzel,  and  returned  with  the  purchased  tickets  of 
indulgence. 

I have  always  been  perplexed  as  to  what  the  indulgences 
really  give.  Christopher  has  terrible  stories  about  the 
money  paid  for  them  being  spent  by  Dr.  Tetzel  and  others 
on  taverns  and  feasts,  and  Gottfried  says,  “It  is  a bargain 
between  the  priests,  who  love  money,  and  the  people,  who 
love  sin.” 

Yesterday  morning  I saw  one  of  the  letters  of  indulgence 
for  the  first  time.  A neighbor  of  ours,  the  wife  of  a miller, 
whose  weights  have  been  a little  suspected  in  the  town,  was 
in  a state  of  great  indignation  when  I went  to  purchase 
some  flour  of  her. 

“See!”  she  said;  “this  Dr.  Luther  will  be  wiser  than  the 


200 


THE  SCHONBEUQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


pope  himself.  He  has  refused  to  admit  my  husband  to  the 
holy  sacrament  unless  he  repents  and  confesses  to  him, 
although  he  took  his  certificate  in  his  hand.” 

She  gave  it  to  me,  and  I read  it.  Certainly,  if  the  doc- 
tors of  divinity  disagree  about  the  value  of  these  indul- 
gences, Dr.  Tetzel  has  no  ambiguity  nor  uncertainty  in  his 
language. 

“I,”  says  the  letter,  “ absolve  thee  from  all  the  excesses, 
sins,  and  crimes  which  thou  hast  committed,  however  great 
and  enormous  they  may  be.  I remit  for  thee  the  pains, 
thou  mightest  have  had  to  endure  in  purgatory.  I restore 
thee  to  participation  in  the  sacraments.  I incorporate  thee 
afresh  into  the  communion  of  the  church.  I re-establish 
thee  in  the  innocence  and  purity  in  which  thou  wast  at  the 
time  of  thy  baptism.  So  that,  at  the  moment  of  thy  death, 
the  gate  by  which  souls  pass  into  the  place  of  torments 
will  be  shut  upon  thee;  while,  on  the  contrary,  that  which 
leads  to  the  paradise  of  joy  will  be  open  unto  thee.  And 
if  thou  art  not  called  on  to  die  soon,  this  grace  will  remain 
unaltered  for  the  time  of  thy  latter  end. 

“In  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son,  and  of  the 
Holy  Ghost. 

“Friar  John  Tetzel,  Commissary,  has  signed  it  with 
his  own  hand.” 

“To  think,”  said  my  neighbor,  “of  the  pope  promising 
my  Franz  admittance  into  paradise;  and  Dr.  Luther  will 
not  even  admit  him  to  the  altar  of  the  parish  church? 
And  after  spending  such  a sum  on  it!  for  the  friar  must 
surely  have  thought  my  husband  better  off  than  he  is,  or 
he  would  not  have  demanded  gold  of  poor  struggling  peo- 
ple like  us.” 

“But  if  the  angels  at  the  gate  of  paradise  should  be  of 
the  same  mind  as  Dr.  Luther?”  I suggested,  “Would  it  not 
be  better  to  find  that  out  here  than  there?” 

“It  is  impossible,”  she  replied;  “have  we  not  the  holy 
father’s  own  word?  and  did  we  not  pay  a whole  golden 
florin?  It  is  impossible  it  can  be  in  vain.” 

“Put  the  next  florin  in  your  scales  instead  of  in  Dr. 
Tetzel’s  chest,  neighbor,”  said  a student,  laughing,  as  he 
heard  her  loud  and  angry  words;  “it  may  weigh  heavier 
with  your  flour  than  against  your  sins.” 

I left  them  to  finish  the  discussion. 

Gottfried  says  it  is  quite  true  that  Dr.  Luther  in  the 


THE  SCHOMB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


201 

confessional  in  the  city  churches  has  earnestly  protested  to 
many  of  his  penitents  against  their  trusting  to  these  certifi- 
cates, and  has  positively  refused  to  suffer  any  to  communi- 
cate, except  on  their  confessing  their  sins,  and  promising  to 
forsake  them,  whether  provided  with  indulgences  or  not. 

In  his  sermon  to  the  people  last  year  on  the  ten  com- 
mandments, he  told  them  forgiveness  was  freely  given  to 
the  penitent  by  God,  and  was  not  to  be  purchased  at  any 
price,  least  of  all  with  money. 

W ittexberg,  July  18. 

The  whole  town  is  in  a ferment  to-day,  on  account  of 
Dr.  Luther’s  sermon  yesterday,  preached  before  the  elector 
in  the  castle  church. 

The  congregation  was  very  large,  composed  of  the  court, 
students  and  townspeople. 

Not  a child  or  ignorant  peasant  there  but  could  under- 
stand the  preacher’s  words.  The  elector  had  procured 
especial  indulgences  from  the  pope  in  aid  of  his  church, 
but  Dr.  Luther  made  no  exception  to  conciliate  him.  He 
said  the  holy  Scriptures  nowhere  demand  of  us  any  penalty 
or  satisfaction  for  our  sins.  God  gives  and  forgives  freely 
and  without  price,  out  of  his  unutterable  grace;  and  lays 
on  the  forgiven  no  other  duty  than  true  repentance  and 
sincere  conversion  of  the  heart,  resolution  to  bear  the  cross 
of  Christ,  and  do  all  the  good  we  can.  He  declared  also 
that;  it  would  be  better  to  give  money  freely  toward  the 
building  of  St.  Peter’s  church  at  Rome,  than  to  bargain 
with  alms  for  indulgences;  that  it  was  more  pleasing  to 
God  to  give  to  the  poor,  than  to  buy  these  letters*  which, 
he  said,  would  at  the  utmost  do  nothing  more  for  any  man 
than  remit  mere  ecclesiastical  penances. 

As  we  returned  from  the  church  together,  Gottfried  said : 

“ The  battle-cry  is  sounded  then  at  last.  The  wolf  has 
assailed  Dr.  Luther’s  own  flock,  and  the  shepherd  is  roused. 
The  battle-cry  is  sounded,  Else,  but  the  battle  is  scarcely 
begun.” 

And  when  we  described  the  sermon  to  our  grandmother, 
she  murmured : 

“It  sounds  to  me,  children,  like  an  old  story  of  my  child- 
hood. Have  I not  heard  such  words  half  a century  since 
in  Bohemia?  and  have  I not  seen  the  lips  which  spoke  them 
silenced  in  flames  and  blood?  Neither  Dr.  Luther  nor  any 


202 


THE  SCIIONB ERG-COTTA  FAMIL  Y. 


of  you  know  whither  you  are  going.  Thank  God,  I am 
soon  going  to  him  who  died  for  speaking  just  such  words! 
Thank  God  I hear  them  again  before  I die!  I have 
doubted  long  about  them  and  about  everything;  how  could 
I dare  to  think  a few  proscribed  men  right  against  the 
whole  church?  But  since  these  old  words  cannot  be 
hushed,  but  rise  from  the  dead  again,  I think  there  must 
be  life  in  them;  eternal  life.  Children,”  she  concluded, 
“tell  me  when  Dr.  Luther  preaches  again;  I will  hear  him 
before  I die,  that  I may  tell  your  grandfather,  when  I meet 
him,  the  old  truth  is  not  dead.  I think  it  would  give  him 
another  joy,  even  before  the  throne  of  God.” 

Wittenberg,  August. 

Christopher  has  returned  from  Jiiterbok.  He  saw 
there  a great  pile  of  burning  faggots,  which  Dr.  Tetzel  has 
caused  to  be  kindled  in  the  market-place,- “to  burn  the 
heretics,”  he  said. 

We  laughed  as  he  related  this,  and  also  at  the  furious 
threats  and  curses  which  had  been  launched  at  Dr.  Luther 
from  the  pulpit  in  front  of  the  iron  money-chest.  But  our 
grandmother  said,  “It  is  no  jest,  children,  they  have  done 
it,  and  they  will  do  it  again  yet!” 


PAET  XIII. 

else’s  story. 

Wittenberg,  Nov.  1,  1517, 
All  Saints’  Day. 

Yesterday  evening,  as  I sat  at  the  window  with  Gott- 
fried in  the  late  twilight,  hushing  Gretchen  to  sleep,  we 
noticed  Dr.  Luther  walk  rapidly  along  the  street  toward 
the  castle  church.  His  step  was  firm  and  quick,  and  he 
seemed  too  full  of  thought  to  observe  anything  as  he  passed. 
There  was  something  unusual  in  his  bearing,  which  made 
my  husband  call  my  attention  to  him.  His  head  was  erect 
and  slightly  thrown  back,  as  when  he  preaches.  He  had  a 
large  packet  of  papers  in  his  hand,  and  although  he  was 
evidently  absorbed  with  some  purpose,  he  had  more  the  air 


TEE  SGEONB Ell G-CO TTA  FAMILY. 


203 


of  a general  moving  to  a battlefield  than  of  a theologian 
buried  in  meditation. 

This  morning,  as  we  went  to  the  early  mass  of  the  festi- 
val, we  saw  a great  crowd  gathered  round  the  doors  of  the 
castle  church;  not  a mob,  however,  but  an  eager  throng  of 
well-dressed  men,  professors,  citizens,  and  students;  those 
within  the  circle  reading  some  writing  which  was  posted 
on  the  door,  while  around,  the  crowd  was  broken  into  little 
knots,  in  eager  but  not  loud  debate. 

Gottfried  asked  what  had  happened. 

“ It  is  only  some  Latin  theses  against  the  indulgences,  by 
Dr.  Luther,”  replied  one  of  the  students,  “inviting  a dis- 
putation on  the  subject.” 

I was  relieved  to  hear  that  nothing  was  the  matter,  and 
Gottfried  and  I quietly  proceeded  to  the  service. 

“It  is  only  an  affair  of  the  university,”  I said.  “I  was 
afraid  it  was  some  national  disaster,  an  invasion  of  the 
Turks,  or  some  event  in  the  elector’s  family.” 

As  we  returned,  however,  the  crowd  had  increased,  and 
the  debate  seemed  to  be  becoming  warm  among  some  of 
them.  One  of  the  students  was  translating  the  Latin  into 
German  for  the  benefit  of  the  unlearned,  and  we  paused  to 
listen. 

What  he  read  seemed  to  me  very  true,  but  not  at  all  re- 
markable. We  had  often  heard  Dr.  Luther  say  and  even 
preach  similar  things.  At  the  moment  we  came  up  the 
words  the  student  was  reading  were: 

“It  is  a great  error  for  one  to  think  to  make  satisfaction 
for  his  sins,  in  that  God  always  forgives  gratuitously  and 
from  his  boundless  grace,  requiring  nothing  in  return  but 
holy  living.” 

This  sentence  I remember  distinctly,  because  it  was  so 
much  like  what  we  had  heard  him  preach.  Other  propo- 
sitions followed,  such  as  that  it  was  very  doubtful  if  the 
indulgences  could  deliver  souls  from  purgatory,  and  that  it 
was  better  to  give  alms  than  to  buy  indulgences.  But  why 
these  statements  should  collect  such  a crowd,  and  excite 
such  intense  interest,  I could  not  quite  understand,  unless 
it  was  because  they  were  in  Latin. 

One  sentence,  I observed,  aroused  very  mingled  feelings 
in  the  crowd.  It  was  the  declaration  that  the  holy  Scrip- 
tures alone  could  settle  any  controversy,  and  that  all  the 
scholastic  teachers  together  could  not  give  authority  to  one 
doctrine* 


204 


TEE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


The  students  and  many  of  the  citizens  received  this  an- 
nouncement with  enthusiastic  applause,  and  some  of  the 
professors  testified  a quiet  approval  of  it;  hut  others  of  the 
doctors  shook  their  heads,  and  a few  retired  at  once,  mur- 
muring angrily  as  they  went. 

At  the  close  came  a declaration  by  Dr.  Luther,  that 
whatever  some  unenlightened  and  morbid  people  might 
say,  he  was  no  heretic. 

“ Why  should  Dr.  Luther  think  it  necessary  to  conclude 
with  a declaration  that  he  is  no  heretic?”  I said  to  Gott- 
fried as  we  walked  home.  “ Can  anything  be  more  full  of 
respect  for  the  pope  and  the  church  than  many  of  these 
theses  are?  And  why  should  they  excite  so  much  atten- 
tion? Dr.  Luther  says  no  more  than  so  many  of  us  think !” 

“True,  Else,”  replied  Gottfried,  gravely;  “but  to  know 
how  to  say  what  other  people  only  think,  is  what  makes 
men  poets  and  sages;  and  to  dare  to  say  what  others  only 
dare  to  think,  makes  men  martyrs  or  reformers,  or  both.” 

November  20. 

It  is  wonderful  the  stir  these  theses  make.  Christopher 
cannot  get  them  printed  fast  enough.  Both  the  Latin  and 
German  printing-presses  are  engaged,  for  they  have  been 
translated,  and  demands  come  for  them  from  every  part  of 
Germany. 

Dr.  Tetzel,  they  say,  is  furious,  and  many  of  the  prelates 
are  uneasy  as  to  the  result;  the  new  bishop  has  dissuaded 
Dr.  Luther  from  publishing  an  explanation  of  them.  It 
is  reported  that  the  Elector  Frederic  is  not  quite  pleased, 
fearing  the  effect  on  the  new  university,  still  in  its  infancy. 

Students,  however,  are  crowding  to  the  town,  and  to  Dr. 
Luther’s  lectures,  more  than  ever.  He  is  the  hero  of  the 
youth  of  Germany. 

But  none  are  more  enthusiastic  about  him  than  our 
grandmother.  She  insisted  on  being  taken  to  church  on 
All  Saints’  Day,  and  tottering  up  the  aisle  took  her  place 
immediately  under  Dr.  Luther’s  pulpit,  facing  the  congre- 
gation. 

She  had  eyes  or  ears  for  none  but  him.  When  he  came 
down  the  pulpit  stairs  she  grasped  his  hand,  and  faltered 
out  a broken  blessing.  And  after  she  came  home  she  sat  a 
long  time  in  silence,  occasionally  brushing  away  tears. 

When  Gottfried  and  I took  leave  for  the  night,  she  held 
one  of  our  hands  in  each  of  hers,  and  said : 


THE  SCHOJSTBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


205 


“ Children!  be  braver  than  I have  been;  that  man 
preaches  the  truth  for  which  my  husband  died.  God  sends 
him  to  you.  Be  faithful  to  him.  Take  heed  that  you  for- 
sake him  not.  It  is  not  given  to, every  one  as  to  me  to  have 
the  light  they  forsook  in  youth  restored  to  them  in  old  age. 
To  me  his  words  are  like  voices  from  the  dead.  They  are 
worth  dying  for.” 

My  mother  is  not  so  satisfied.  She  likes  what  Dr. 
Luther  says,  but  she  is  afraid  what  Aunt  Agnes  might 
think  of  it.  She  thinks  he  speaks  too  violently  sometimes. 
She  does  not  like  any  one  to  be  pained.  She  cannot  her- 
self much  like  the  way  they  sell  the  indulgences,  but  she 
hopes  Dr.  Tetzel  means  well,  and  she  has  no  doubt  that 
the  pope  knows  best;  and  she  is  convinced  that  in  their 
hearts  all  good  people  mean  the  same,  only  she  is  afraid,  in 
the  heat  of  'discussion,  every  one  will  go  further  than  any 
one  intends,  and  so  there  will  be  a great  deal  of  bad  feeling. 
She  thought  it  was  quite  right  of  Dr.  Luther  quietly  to 
admonish  any  of  his  penitents  who  were  imagining  they 
could  be  saved  without  repentance;  but  why  he  should  ex- 
cite all  the  town  in  this  way  by  these  theses  she  could  not 
understand ; especially  on  All  Saints’  Day,  when  so  many 
strangers  came  from  the  country,  and  the  holy  relics  were 
exhibited,  and  every  one  ought  to  be  absorbed  with  their 
devotions. 

“ Ah,  little  mother,”  said  my  father,  “women  are  too 
tender-hearted  for  plowmen’s  work.  You  could  never 
bear  to  break  up  the  clods,  and  tear  up  all  the  pretty  wild 
flowers.  But  when  the  harvest  comes  we  will  set  you  to 
bind  up  the  sheaves,  or  to  glean  beside  the  reapers.  No 
rough  hands  of  men  will  do  that  so  well  as  yours.” 

And  Gottfried  said  his  vow  as  doctor  of  divinity  makes 
it  as  much  Dt.  Luther’s  plain  duty  to  teach  true  divinity, 
as  his  priestly  vows  oblige  him  to  guard  his  flock  from  error 
and  sin.  Gottfried  says  we  have  fallen  on  stormy  times. 
For  him  that  may  be  best,  and  by  his  side  all  is  well  for  me. 
Besides,  I am  accustomed  to  rough  paths.  But  when  I look 
on  our  little  tender  Gretchen,  as  her  dimpled  cheek  rests 
flushed  with  sleep  on  her  pillow,  I cannot  help  wishing  the 
battle  might  not  begin  in  her  time. 

Dr.  Luther  counted  the  cost  before  he  affixed  these 
theses  to  the  church  door.  It  was  this  which  made  him 
do  it  so  secretly,  without  consulting  any  of  his  friends.  He 


206 


THE  SCHONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY. 


knew  there  was  risk  in  it,  and  he  nobly  resolved  not  to 
involve  any  one  else — elector,  professor,  or  pastor — in  the 
danger  he  incurred  without  hesitation  for  himself. 

October,  1517. 

Ik  oke  thing  we  are  all  agreed,  and  that  is  in  our  delight 
in  Dr.  Luther’s  lectures  on  St.  Paul’s  Epistle  to  the  Gala- 
tians Gottfried  heard  them  and  took  notes,  and  reported 
them  to  us  in  my  father’s  house.  We  gather  around  him, 
all  of  us,  in  the  winter  evenings,  while  he  reads  those  in- 
spiring words  to  us.  Never,  I think,  were  words  like 
them.  Yesterday  he  was  reading  to  us,  for  the  twentieth 
time,  what  Dr.  Luther  said  on  the  words,  “ Who  loved  me, 
and  gav®  himself  for  me.” 

“ Read  with  vehemency,”  he  says,  “those  words  ‘me,’  and 
‘for  me.’  Print  this  ‘me’  in  thy  heart,  not  doubting  thar 
thou  art  of  the  number  to  whom  this  ‘me’  belongeth;  also, 
that  Christ  hath  not  only  loved  Peter  and  Paul,  and  given 
himself  for  them,  but  that  the  same  grace  also  which  is 
comprehended  in  this  ‘me,’  as  well  pertaineth  and  cometh 
unto  us  as  unto  them.  Eor  as  we  cannot  deny  that  we  are 
all  sinners,  all  lost;  so  we  cannot  deny  that  Christ  died  for 
our  sins.  Therefore  when  I feel  and  confess  myself  to  be 
a sinner,  why  should  I not  say  that  I am  made  righteous 
through  the  righteousness  of  Christ,  especially  when  I hear 
he  loved  me  and  gave  himself  for  me?” 

And  then  my  mother  asked  for  the  passages  she  most 
delights  in:  “Oh  Christ,  I am  thy  sin,  thy  curse,  thy 
wrath  of  God,  thy  hell;  and  contrariwise,  thou  art  my 
righteousness,  my  blessing,  my  life,  my  grace  of  God,  my 
heaven.” 

And  again,  when  he  speaks  of  Christ  being  “made  a 
curse  for  us,  the  unspotted  and  undefiled  Lamb  of  God 
wrapped  in  our  sins,  God  not  laying  our  sins  upon  us,  but 
upon  his  Son,  that  he,  bearing  the  punishment  thereof, 
might  be  our  peace,  that  by  his  stripes  we  might  be  healed.” 

And  again : 

“ Sin  is  a mighty  conqueror,  which  devoureth  all  man- 
kind, learned  and  unlearned,  holy,  wise,  and  mighty  men. 
This  tyrant  flieth  upon  Christ,  and  will  needs  swallow  him 
up  as  he  doth  all  other.  But  he  seeth  not  that  Christ  is  a 
person  of  invincible  and  everlasting  righteousness.  There- 
fore in  this  combat  sin  must  needs  be  vanquished  and 


THE  SGIIONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY. 


207 


killed;  and  righteousness  must  overcome,  live,  and  reign. 
So  in  Christ  all  sin  is  vanquished,  killed,  and  buried;  and 
righteousness  remaineth  a conqueror,  and  reigneth  forever. 

“In  like  manner  Death,  which  is  an  omnipotent  queen 
and  empress  of  the  whole  world,  killing  kings,  princes,  and 
all  men,  doth  mightily  encounter  with  Life,  thinking 
utterly  to  overcome  it  and  to  swallow  it  up.  But  because 
the  Life  was  immortal,  therefore  when  it  was  overcome,  it 
nevertheless  overcame,  vanquishing  and  killing  Death. 
Death,  therefore,  through  Christ,  is  vanquished  and  abol- 
ished, so  that  now  it  is  but  a painted  death,  which,  robbed 
of  its  sting,  can  no  more  hurt  those  that  believe  in  Christ, 
who  is  become  the  death  of  Death. 

“ So  the  curse  hath  the  like  conflict  with  the  blessing, 
and  would  condemn  and  bring  it  to  naught;  but  it  cannot. 
For  the  blessing  is  divine  and  everlasting,  therefore  the 
curse  must  needs  give  place.  For  if  the  blessing  in  Christ 
could  be  overcome,  then  would  God  himself  be  overcome. 
But  this  is  impossible;  therefore  Christ,  the  power  of  God, 
righteousness,  blessing,  grace,  and  life,  overcometh  and 
destroyeth  those  monsters,  sin,  death,  and  the  curse,  with- 
out war  and  weapons,  in  this  our  body,  so  that  they  can 
no  more  hurt  those  that  believe.” 

Such  truths  are  indeed  worth  battling  for;  but  who,  save 
the  devil,  would  war  against  them?  I wonder  what  Fritz 
would  think  of  it  all? 

Wittenberg,  February,  1518. 

. Christopher  returned  yesterday  evening  from  the 
market-place  where  the  students  have  been  burning 
Tetzel’s  theses,  which  he  wrote  in  answer  to  Dr.  Luther’s. 
Tetzel  hides  behind  the  papal  authority,  and  accuses*Dr. 
Luther  of  assailing  the  holy  father  himself. 

But  Dr.  Luther  says  nothing  shall  ever  make  him  a 
heretic;  that  he  will  recognize  the  voice  of  the  pope  as  the 
voice  of  Christ  himself.  The  students  kindled  this  con- 
flagration in  the  market-place  entirely  on  their  own  respon- 
sibility. They  are  full  of  enthusiasm  for  Dr.  Martin,  and 
of  indignation  against  Tetzel  and  the  Dominicans. 

“Who  can  doubt,”  said  Christopher,  “ how  the  conflict 
will  end,  between  all  learning  and  honesty  and  truth  on  the 
one  sidi,  and  a few  contemptible,  avaricious  monks  on 
the  other?”  And  he  proceeded  to  describe  to  us  the  con- 


208 


THE  SGHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


flagration  and  the  sayings  of  the  students  with  as  much 
exultation  as  if  it  had  been  a victory  over  Tetzel  and  the 
indulgence-mongers  themselves. 

“But  it  seems  to  me,”  I said,  “that  Dr.  Luther  is  not 
so  much  at  ease  about  it  as  you  are.  I have  noticed  lately 
that  he  looks  grave,  and  at  times  very  sad.  He  does  not 
seem  to  think  the  victory  won.” 

“Young  soldiers,”  said  Gottfried,  “on  the  eve  of  their 
first  battle  may  be  as  blithe  as  on  the  eve  of  a tourney. 
Veterans  are  grave  before  the  battle.  Their  courage  comes 
with  the  conflict.  It  will  be  thus,  I believe,  with  Dr. 
Luther.  For  surely  the  battle  is  coming.  Already  some 
of  his  old  friends  fall  off.  They  say  the  censor  at  Borne, 
Prierias,  has  condemned  and  written  against  his* theses.” 
“But,”  rejoined  Christopher,  “they  say  also  that  Pope 
Leo  praised  Dr.  Luther’s  genius,  and  said  it  was  only  the 
envy  of  the  monks  which  found  fault  with  him.  Dr. 
Luther  believes  the  pope  only  needs  to  learn  the  truth 
about  these  indulgence-mongers  to  disown  them  at  once.”' 
“ Honest  men  believe  all  men  honest  until  they  are  proved 
dishonest,”  said  Gottfreid  dryly;  “but  the  Koman  court  is 
expensive  and  the  indulgences  are  profitable.” 

This  morning  our  grandmother  asked  nervously  what 
was  the  meaning  of  the  shouting  she  had  heard  yesterday 
in  the  market-place,  and  the  glare  of  fire  she  had  seen,  and 
the  crackling? 

“Only  Tetzel’s  lying  theses,”  said  Christopher.  She 
seemed  relieved. 

“In  my' early  days,”  she  said,  “I  learned  to  listen  too 
eagerly  to  sounds  like  that.  But  in  those  times  they  burned 
otljer  things  than  books  or  papers  in  the  market-places.” 
“Tetzel  threatens  to  do  so  again,”  said  Christopher. 

“No  doubt  they  will,  if  they  can,”  she  replied,  and  re- 
lapsed into  silence. 

fritz’s  story. 

Augustinian  Convent,  Mainz. 

November,  1517. 

Seven  years  have  passed  since  I have  written  anything 
in  this  old  chronicle  of  mine,  and  as  in  the  quiet  of  this 
convent  once  more  I open  it,  the  ink  on  the  first  pages  is 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


209 


already  brown  with  time;  yet  a strange,  familiar  fragrance 
breathes  from  them,  as  of  early  spring  flowers.  My  child- 
hood comes  back  to  me,  with  all  its  devout  simplicity;  my 
youth,  with  all  its  rich  prospects  and  its  buoyant,  ardent 
hopes.  My  childhood  seems  like  one  of  those  green  quiet 
valleys  in  my  native  forests,  like  the  valley  of  my  native 
Eisenach  itself,  when  that  one  reach  of  the  forest,  and  that 
one  quiet  town  with  its  spires  and  church  bells,  and  that 
one  lowly  home  with  its  love,  its  cares,  and  its  twilight 
talks  in  the  lumber-room,  were  all  the  world  I could  see. 

Youth  rises  before  me  like  that  first  journey  through 
the  forest  to  the  University  of  Erfurt,  when  the  world 
opened  to  me  like  the  plains  from  the  breezy  heights,  a 
battlefield  for  glorious  achievement,  an  unbounded  ocean 
for  adventure  and  discovery,  a vast  field  for  noble  work. 

Then  came  another  brief  interval,  when  once  again  the 
lowly  home  at  Eisenach  became  to  me  dearer  and  more  than 
all  the  Avide  world  beside,  and  all  the  earth  and  all  life 
seemed  to  grow  sacred  and  to  expand  before  me  in  the  light 
of  one  pure,  holy,  loving  maiden’s  heart.  I have  seen 
nothing  so  heaven-like  since  as  she  was.  But  then  came 
the  great  crash  which  wrenched  my  life  in  twain,  and  made 
home  and  the  world  alike  forbidden  ground  to  me. 

At  first,  after  that,  for  years  I dared  not  think  of  Eva. 
But  since  my  pilgrimage  to  Borne,  I venture  to  cherish  her 
memory  again.  I thank  God  every  day  that  nothing  can 
erase  that  image  of  purity  and  love  from  my  heart.  Had 
it  not  been  for  that  and  for  the  recollection  of  Dr.  Luther’s 
manly,  honest  piety,  there  are  times  Avhen  the  very  exist- 
ence of  truth  and  holiness  on  earth  would  have  seemed 
inconceivable,  such  a chaos  of  corruption  has  the  world 
appeared  to  me. 

How  often  has  the  little  lowly  hearth-fire,  glowing  from 
the  windows  of  the  old  home,  saved  me  from  shipwreck, 
when  “for  many  days  neither  sun  nor  stars  appeared,  and 
no  small  tempest  lay  on  me.” 

For  I have  lived  during  these  years  behind  the  veil  of 
outward  shows,  a poor  insignificant  monk,  before  whom 
none  thought  it  worth  Avhile  to  inconvenience  themselves 
with  masks  or  disguises. 

I have  spent  hour  after  hour,  moreover,  in  the  confes- 
sional. I have  been  in  the  sacristry  before  the  mass,  and 
at  the  convent  feast  after  it.  And  I have  spent  months 


210 


THE  8CH0NB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


once  and  again  at  the  heart  of  Christendom,  in  Rome  itself, 
where  the  indulgences  which  are  now  stirring  up  all  Ger- 
many are  manufactured,  and  where  the  money  gained  by 
the  indulgences  is  spent  not  entirely  on  the  building  of  St. 
Peter’s  or  in  holy  wars  against  the  Turks! 

Thank  God  that  a voice  is  raised  at  last  against  this  cry- 
ing, monstrous  lie,  the  honest  voice  of  Dr.  Luther.  It  is 
ringing  through  all  the  land.  I have  just  returned  from  a 
mission  through  Germany,  and  I had  opportunities  of 
observing  the  effect  of  the  theses. 

The  first  time  I heard  of  them  was  from  a sermon  in  a 
church  of  the  Dominicans  in  Bavaria. 

The  preacher  §poke  of  Dr.  Luther  by  name,  and  reviled 
the  theses  as  directly  inspired  by  the  devil,  declaring  that 
their  wretched  author  would  have  a place  in  hell  lower  than 
all  the  heretics,  from  Simon  Magus  downward. 

The  congregation  were  roused,  and  spoke  of  it  as  they 
dispersed.  Some  piously  wondered  who  this  new  heretic 
could  be  who  was  worse  even  than  Huss.  Others  specu- 
lated what  this  new  poisonous  doctrine  could  be;  and  a 
great  many  bought  a copy  of  the  theses  to  see. 

In  the  Augustinian  convent  that  evening  they  formed 
the  subject  of  warm  debate.  Not  a few  of  the  monks 
triumphed  in  them  as  an  effective  blow  for  Tetzel  and  the 
Dominicans.  A few  rejoiced  and  said  these  were  the  words 
they  had  been  longing  to  hear  for  years.  Many  expressed 
wonder  that  people  should  make  so  much  stir  about  them, 
since  they  said  nothing  more  than  all  honest  men  in  the 
land  had  always  thought. 

A few  nights  afterward  I lodged  at  the  house  of  Ruprecht 
Haller,  a priest  in  a Franconian  village.  A woman  of  quiet 
and  modest  appearance,  young  in  form  but  worn  and  old  in 
expression,  with  a subdued,  broken-spirited  bearing,  was 

Preparing  our  supper,  and  while  she  was  serving  the  table 
began  to  speak  to  the  priest  about  the  theses  of  Dr. 
Luther. 

He  motioned  to  me  to  keep  silence,  and  hastily  turned 
the  conversation. 

When  we  were  left  alone  he  explained  his  reasons.  “ I 
gave  her  the  money  for  an  indulgence  letter  last  week,  and 
she  purchased  one  from  one  of  Dr.  Tetzel’s  company,”  he 
said;  “and  when  she  returned  her  heart  seemed  lighter 
than  I have  seen  it  for  years,  since  God  smote  us  for  our 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


211 


sins,  and  little  Dietrich  died.  I would  not  have  her  robbed 
of  that  little  bit  of  comfort  for  the  world,  be  it  true  or 
false.” 

Theirs  was  a sad  story,  common  enough  in  every  town 
and  village  as  regarded  the  sin,  and  only  uncommon  as  to 
the  longing  for  better  things  which  yet  lingered  in  the 
hearts  of  the  guilty. 

I suggested  her  returning  to  her  kindred  or  entering  a 
convent. 

“She  has  no  kindred  left  that  would  receive  her,”  he 
said;  “and  to  send  her  to  be  scorned  and  disciplined  by  a 
community  of  nuns — never!” 

“But  her  soul!”  I said,  “and  yours?” 

“The  blessed  Lord  received  such,”  he  answered  almost 
fiercely,  “before  the  Pharisees.” 

“Such  received  him!”  I said  quietly,  “but  receiving  him 
they  went  and  sinned  no  more.” 

“ And  when  did  God  ever  say  it  was  sin  for  a priest  to 
marry?”  he  asked;  “not  in  the  Old  Testament,  for  the  son 
of  Elkanah  the  priest  and  Hannah  ministered  before  the 
Lord  in  the  temple,  as  perhaps  our  little  Dietrich,”  he  added 
in  alow  tone,  “ministers  before  Him  in  his  temple  now. 
And  where  in  the  New  Testament  do  you  find  it  forbidden?” 
“The  church  forbids  it,”  fsaid. 

“Since  when?”  he  asked.  “The  subject  is  too  near  my 
heart  for  me  not  to  have  searched  to  see.  And  five  hun- 
dred years  ago,  I have  read,  before  the  days  of  Hildebrand 
the  pope,  many  a village  pastor  had  his  lawful  wife,  whom 
he  loved  as  I love  Bertha;  for  God  knows  neither  she  nor  I 
ever  loved  another.” 

“Does  this  satisfy  her  conscience?”  I asked. 
“Sometimes,”  he  replied  bitterly,  “but  only  sometimes. 
Oftener  she  lives  as  one  under  a curse,  afraid  to  receive  any 
good  thing,  and  bowing  to  every  sorrow  as  her  bitter  desert, 
and  the  foretaste  of  the  terrible  retribution  to  come.” 

“ Whatever  is  not  of  faith  is  sin,”  I murmured. 

“But  what  will  be  the  portion  of  those  who  call  what 
God  sanctions  sin,”  he  said,  “and  bring  trouble  and  pollu- 
tion into  hearts  as  pure  as  hers?” 

The  woman  entered  the  room  as  he  was  speaking,  and 
must  have  caught  his  words,  for  a deep  crimson  flushed  her 
pale  face.  As  she  turned  away,  her  whole  frame  quivered 
with  a suppressed  sob.  But  afterward,  wrhen  the  priest 


212 


THE  SCHON BERG-COTTA  FA  MILT. 


left  the  room,  she  came  up  to  me  and  said,  looking  with 
her  sad,  dark,  lusterless  eyes  at  me,  “ You  were  saying  that 
some  doubt  the  efficacy  of  these  indulgences?  But  you  do 
not?  I cannot  trust  him”  she  added  softly,  “he  would 
be  afraid  to  tell  me  if  he  thought  so.” 

I hesitated  what  to  say.  I could  not  tell  an  untruth, 
and  before  those  searching,  earnest  eyes,  any  attempt  at 
evasion  would  have  been  vain. 

“You  do  not  believe  this  letter  can  do  anything  for  me,” 
she  said;  “ nor  do  I”  And  moving  quietly  to  the  hearth, 
she  tore  the  indulgence  into  shreds,  and  threw  it  on  the 
flames. 

“Do  not  tell  him  this,”  she  said;  “he  thinks  it  comforts 
me.” 

I tried  to  say  some  words  about  repentance  and  forgive- 
ness being  free  to  all. 

“Repentance  for  me,”  she  said,  “would  be  to  leave  him, 
would  it  not?” 

I could  not  deny  it. 

“I  will  never  leave  him,”  she  replied,  with  a calmness 
which  was  more  like  principle  than  passion.  “He  has  sac- 
rificed life  for  me;  but  for  me  he  might  have  been  a great 
and  honored  man.  And  do  vou  think  I would  leave  him 
to  bear  his  blighted  life  alone^” 

Ah!  it  was  no  dread  of  scorn  or  discipline  which  kept 
her  from  the  convent. 

For  some  time  I was  silenced.  I dared  neither  to  re- 
proach nor  to  comfort.  At  length  I said,  “Life,  whether 
joyful  or  sorrowful,  is  very  short.  Holiness  is  infinitely 
better  than  happiness  here,  and  holiness  makes  happiness 
in  the  life  beyond.  If  you  felt  it  would  be  for  his  good, 
you  would  do  anything,  at  any  cost  to  yourself,  would  you 
not?” 

Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  “You  believe,  then,  that 
there  is  some  good  left  even  in  me,”  she  said.  “For  this 
may  God  bless  you,”  and  silently  she  left  the  room. 

Five  hundred  years  ago  these  two  lives  might  have  been 
holy,  honorable,  and  happy;  and  now! 

I left  that  house  with  a heavy  heart,  and  a mind  more 
bewildered  than  before. 

But  that  pale,  worn  face;  those  deep,  sad,  truthful  eyes; 
and  that  brow,  that  might  have  been  as  pure  as  the  brow 
of  a St.  Agnes,  have  haunted  me  often  since.  And  when- 
ever I think  of  it,  I say : 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY, . 


213 


“God  be  merciful  to  them  and  to  me,  sinners.” 

For  had  not  my  own  good,  pure,  pious  mother  doubts 
and  scruples  almost  as  bitter?  Did  not  she  also  live  too 
often  as  if  under  a curse?  Who  or  what  has  thrown  this 
shadow  on  so  many  homes?  Who  that  knows  the  interior 
of  many  convents  dares  to  say  they  are  holier  than  homes? 
Who  that  has  lived  with,  or  confessed  many  monks  or  nuns, 
can  dare  to  say  their  hearts  are  more  heavenly  than  those 
of  husband  or  wife,  father  or  mother?  Alas!  the  questions 
of  that  priest  are  nothing  new-  to  me.  But  I dare  not 
entertain  them.  For  if  monastic  life  is  a delusion,  to  what 
have  I sacrificed  hopes  which  were  so  absorbing,  and  might 
have  been  so  pure? 

Begrets  are  burdens  a brave  man  must  cast  off.  For  my 
little  life  what  does  it  matter?  But  to  see  vice  shamefully 
reigning  in  the  most  sacred  places,  and  scruples,  perhaps 
false,  staining  the  purest  hearts,  who  can  behold  these 
things  and  not  mourn?  Crimes  a pagan  would  have  ab- 
horred atoned  for  by  a few  florins;  sins  which  the  holy 
Scriptures  scarcely  seem  to  condemn  weighing  on  tender 
consciences  like  crimes!  What  will  be  the  end  of  this 
chaos? 

The  next  night  I spent  in  the  castle  of  an  old  knight  in 
the  Thuringian  Forest,  Otto  von  Gersdorf.  He  welcomed 
me  very  hospitably  to  his  table,  at  which  a stately  old  lady 
presided,  his  widowed  sister. 

“ What  is  all  this  talk  about  Dr.  Luther  and  his  theses?” 
he  asked;  “only,  I suppose,  some  petty  quarrel  between 
the  monks!  And  yet  my  nephew  Ulrich  thinks  there  is 
no  one  on  earth  like  this  little  Brother  Martin.  You  good 
Augustinians  do  not  like  the  Black  Friars  to  have  all  the 
profit;  is  that  it?”  he  asked,  laughing. 

“That  is  not  Dr.  Luther’s  motive,  at  all  events,”  I said; 
“I  do  not  believe  money  is  more  to  him  than  it  is  to  the 
birds  of  the  air.” 

“No,  brother,”  said  the  lady;  “think  of  the  beautiful 
words  our  Chriemhild  read  us  from  his  book  on  the  Lord’s 
prayer.” 

“ Yes;  you,  and  Ulrich,  and  Chriemhild,  and  Atlantis,” 
rejoined  the  old  knight,  “you  are  all  alike;  the  little  friar 
has  bewitched  you  all.” 

The  names  of  my  sisters  made  my  heart  beat. 


21 4 THE  SCHONBERG-CO TTA  FAMIL  Y. 

“Does  the  lady  know  Chriemhild  and  Atlantis  Cotta?”  I 
asked. 

“ Come,  nephew  Ulrich,”  said  the  knight  to  a yonng  man 
who  had  just  entered  the  hall  from  the  chase;  “tell  this 
good  brother  all  you  know  of  Fraulein  Chriemhild  Cotta.” 

We  were  soon  the  best  friends;  and  long  after  the  old 
knight  and  his  sister  had  retired,  Ulrich  von  Gersdorf  and 
I sat  up  discoursing  about  Dr.  Luther  and  his  noble  words 
and  deeds,  and  of  names  dearer  to  us  both  even  than  his. 

“Then  you  are  Fritz,.”  he  said  musingly,  after  a pause; 
“the  Fritz  they  all  delight  to  talk  of,  and  think  no  one 
can  ever  be  equal  to.  You  are  the  Fritz  that  Chriemhild 
says  her  mother  always  hoped  would  have  wedded  that 
angel  maiden  Eva  yon  Schonberg,  who  is  now  a nun  at 
Nimptschen;  whose  hymn-book  and  ‘Theologia  Teutsch’ 
she  carried  with  her  to  the  convent.  I wonder  you  could 
have  left  her  to  become  a monk,”  he  continued;  “your 
vocation  must  have  been  very  strong.” 

At  that  moment  it  certainly  felt  very  weak.  But  I would 
not  for  the  world  have  let  him  see  this,  and  I said,  with  as 
steady  a voice  as  I could  command,  “I  believe  it  was  God’s 
will.” 

“Well,”  he  continued,  “it.  is  good  for  any  one  to  have 
seen  her,  and  to  carry  that  image  of  purity  and  piety  with 
him  into  cloister  or  home.  It  is  better  than  any  painting 
of  the  saints,  to  have  that  angelic,  childlike  countenance, 
and  that  voice  sweet  as  church  music,  in  one’s  heart.” 

“It  is,”  I said,  and  I could  not  have  said  a word  more. 
Happily  for  me,  he  turned  to  another  subject  and  expatiated 
for  a long  time  on  the  beauty  and  goodness  of  his  little 
Chriemhild,  who  was  to  be  his  wife,  he  said,  next  year; 
while  through  my  heart  only  two  thoughts  remained  dis- 
tinct, namely,  what  my  mother  had  wished  about  Eva  and 
me,  and  that  Eva  had  taken  my  “ Theologia  Teutsch”  into 
the  convent  with  her. 

It  took  some  days  before  I could  remove  that  sweet, 
guileless,  familiar  face,  to  the  saintly,  unearthly  height  in 
my  heart,  where  only  it  is  safe  for  me  to  gaze  on  it. 

But  I believe  Ulrich  thought  me  a very  sympathizing 
listener,  for  in  about  an  hour  he  said: 

“You  are  a patient  and  good-natured  monk,  to  listen 
thus  to  my  romances.  However,  she.  is  your  sister,  and  I 
wish  you  would  be  at  our  wedding.  But,  at  all  events,  it 


THE  SCHONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY . 215 

will  be  delightful  to  have  news  for  Cliriemhild  and  all  of 
them  about  Fritz.” 

I had  intended  to  go  on  to  Wittenberg  for  a few  days, 
but  after  that  conversation  I did  not  dare  to  do  so  at  once. 
I returned  to  the  University  of  Tubingen,  to  quiet  my 
mind  a little  with  Greek  and  Hebrew,  under  the  direction 
of  the  excellent  Eeuchlin,  it  being  the  will  of  our  vicar- 
general  that  I should -study  the  languages. 

At  Tubingen  I found  Dr.  Luther’s  theses  the  great  topic 
of  debate.  Men  of  learning  rejoiced  in  the  theses  as  an  as- 
sault on  barbarism  and  ignorance;  men  of  straightforward 
integrity  hailed  them  as  a protest  against  a system  of  lies 
and  imposture;  men  of  piety  gave  thanks  for  them  as  a de- 
fense of  holiness  and  truth.  The  students  enthusiastically 
greeted  Dr.  Luther  as  the  prince  of  the  new  age;  the  aged 
Eeuchlin  and  many  of  the  professors  recognized  him  as  an 
assailant  of  old  foes  from  a new  point  of  attack. 

. Here  I attended  for  some  weeks  the  lectures  of  the  young 
doctor,  Philip  Melancthon  (then  only  twenty-one,  yet 
already  a d-octor  for  four  years),  until  he  was  summoned  to 
Wittenberg,  which  he  reached  on  the  25th  of  August,  1518. 

On  business  of  the  order,  I was  deputed  about  the  same 
time  on  a mission  to  the  Augustinian  convent  at  Witten- 
berg, so  that  I saw  him  arrive.  The  disappointment  at  his 
first  appearance  was  great.  Could  this  little  unpretending- 
looking youth  be  the  great  scholar  Eeuchlin  had  recom- 
mended so  warmly,  and  from  whose  abilities  the  Elector 
Frederic  expected  such  great  results  for  his  new  uni- 
versity? 

Dr.  Luther  was  among  the  first  to  discover  the  treasure 
hidden  in  this  insignificant  frame.  But  his  first  Latin 
harangue,  four  days  after  his  arrival,  w7on  the  admiration  of 
all;  and  very  soon  his  lecture-room  was  crowded. 

This  was  the  event  which  absorbed  Wittenberg  when 
first  I saw  it. 

The  return  to  my  old  home  was  very  strange  to  me. 
Such  a broad  barrier  of  time  and  circumstance  had  grown 
up  between  me  and ’those  most  familiar  to  me! 

Else,  matronly  as  she  was,  with  her  keys,  her  stores,  her 
large  household,  and  her  two  children,  the  baby  Fritz  and 
Gretchen,  was  in  heart  the  very  same  to  me  as  when  we 
parted  for  my  first  term  at  Erfurt.  Her  honest,  kind  blue 
eyes,  had  the  very  same  look.  But  around  her  was  a whole 


M 


216  THE  tiCH ONB EU G-CO TTA  FAMILY . 

new  world  of  strangers,  strange  to  me  as  her  own  new  life, 
with  whom  I had  no  links  whatever. 

With  Chriemhild  and  the  younger  children  the  recollec- 
tion of  me  as  the  elder  brother  seemed  struggling  with  their 
reverence  for  the  priest.  Christopher  appeared  to  look  on 
me  with  a mixture  of  pity,  and  respect,  and  perplexity, 
which  prevented  my  having  any  intimate  intercourse  with 
him  afc  all. 

Only  my  mother  seemed  unchanged  with  regard  to  me, 
although  much  more  aged  and  feeble.  But  in  her  affection 
there  was  a clinging  tenderness  which  pierced  my  heart 
more  than  the  bitterest  reproaches.  I felt  by  the  silent 
watching  of  her  eyes  how  she  had  missed  me. 

My  father  was  little  altered,  except  that  his  schemes  ap- 
peared to  give  him  a new  and  placid  satisfaction  in  the  very 
impossibility  of  their  fulfillment,  and  that  the  relations  be- 
tween him  and  my  grandmother  were  much  more  friendly. 

There  was  at  first  a little  severity  in  our  grandmother’s 
manner  to  me,  which  wore  off  when  we  understood  how 
much  Dr.  Luther’s  teaching  had  done  for  us  both;  and  she 
never  wearied  of  hearing  what  he  had  said  and  done  at 
Borne. 

The  one  who,  I felt,  would  have  been  entirely  the  same, 
was  gone  forever;  and  I could  scarcely  regret  the  absence 
which  left  that  one  image  undimmed  by  the  touch  of  time, 
and  surrounded  by  no  barriers  of  change. 

But  of  Eva  no  one  spoke  to  me,  except  little  Thekla, 
who  sang  to  me  over  and  over  the  Latin  hymns  Eva  had 
taught  her,  and  asked  if  she  sang  them  at  all  in  the  same 
way. 

I told  her  yes.  They  were  the  same  words,  the  same 
melodies,  much  of  the  same  soft,  reverent,  innocent  man- 
ner. But  little  Thekla’s  voice  was  deep  and  powerful,  and 
clear  like  a thrush’s;  and  Eva’s  used  to  be  like  the  soft 
murmuring  of  a dove  in  the  depth  of  some  quiet  wood — 
hardly  a voice  at  all — an  embodied  prayer,  as  if  you  stood 
at  the  threshold  of  her  heart,  and  heard  the  music  of  her 
happy,  holy,  childish  thoughts  within.* 

No,  nothing  could  ever  break  the  echo  of  that  voice  to 
me. 

But  Thekla  and  I became  great  friends.  She  had 
scarcely  known  me  of  old.  We  became  friends  as  we  were. 
There  was  nothing  to  recall,  nothing  to  efface.  And  Oousiu 


THE  SCH ONE Ell O-CO TTA  FAMILY. 


217 


Eva  had  been  to  her  as  a star  or  angel  in  heaven,  or  as  if 
she  had  been  another  child  sent  by  God  out  of  some  beauti- 
ful old  legend  to  be  her  friend. 

Altogether,  there  was  some  pain  in  this  visit  to  my  old 
home.  I had  prayed  so  earnestly  that  the  blank  my  departure 
had  made  might  be  filled  up;  but  now  that  I saw  it  filled, 
and  the  life  of  my  beloved  running  its  busy  course,  with 
no  place  in  it  for  me,  it  left  a dreary  feeling  of  exile  on  my 
heart.  If  the  dead  could  thus  return,  would  they  feel 
anything  of  this?  Not  the  holy  dead,  surely.  They  would 
rejoice  that  the  sorrow,  having  wrought  its  work,  should 
cease  to  be  so  bitter — that  the  blank  should  not,  indeed,  be 
filled  (no  true  love  can  replace  another),  but  veiled  and 
made  fruitful,  as  time  and  nature  veil  all  ruins. 

But  the  holy  dead  would  revisit  earth  from  a home,  a 
Father’s  house;  and  that  the  cloister  is  not,  nor  can  ever 
be. 

Yet  I would  gladly  have  remained  at  Wittenberg.  Com- 
pared with  Wittenberg,  all  the  world  seemed  asleep.  There 
it  was  morning,  and  an  atmosphere  of  hope  and  activity 
was  around  my  heart.  Dr.  Luther  was  there;  and,  whether 
consciously  or  not,  all  who  look  for  better  days  seem  to  fix 
their  eyes  on  him. 

But  I was  sent  to  Mainz.  On  my  journey  thither  I 
went  out  of  my  way  to  take  a new  book  of  Dr.  Luther’s  to 
my  poor  priest  Buprecht  in  Franconia.  His  village  lay  in 
the  depths  of  a pine  forest.  The  book  was  the  exposition 
of  the  Lord’s  Prayer  in  German,  for  lay  and  unlearned 
people.  The  priest’s  house  was  empty;  but  I laid  the  book 
on  a wooden  seat  in  the  porch,  with  my  name  and  a few 
words  of  gratitude  for  his  hospitality.  And  as  I wound 
my  way  through  the  forest,  I saw  from  a height  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  valley  a woman  enter  the  porch,  and 
stoop  to  pick  up  the  book,  and  then  stand  reading  it  in  the 
doorway.  As  I turned  away,  her  figure  still  stood  motion- 
less in  the  arch  of  the  porch,  with  the  white  leaves  of  the 
open  book  relieved  against  the  shadow  of  the  interior. 

I prayed  that  the  words  might  be  written  on  her  heart. 
Wonderful  words  of  holy  love  and  grace  I knew  were  there 
which  would  restore  hope  and  purity  to  any  heart  on  which 
they  were  written. 

And  now  I am  placed  in  this  Augustinian  monastery  at 
Mainz  in  the  Rhiue-lancL 


218 


TEE  SCEONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


This  convent  has  its  own  peculiar  traditions.  Here  is  a 
dungeon  in  which,  not  forty  years  ago  (in  1481),  died  John 
of  Wesel — the  old  man  who  had  dared  to  protest  against 
indulgences,  and  to  utter  such  truths  as  Dr.  Luther  is 
upholding  now. 

An  aged  monk  of  this  monastery,  who  was  young  when 
John  of  Wesel  died,  remembers  him,  and  has  often  spoken 
to  me  about  him.  The  inquisitors  instituted  a process- 
against  him,  which  was  carried  on,  like  so  many  others,  in 
the  secret  of  the  cloister. 

It  was  said  that  he  made  a general  recantation,  but  that 
two  accusations  which  were  brought  against  him  he  did  not 
attempt  in  his  defense  to  deny.  They  were  these:  “That 
it  is  not  his  monastic  life  which  saves  any  monk,  but  the 
grace  of  God;”  and,  “That  the  same  Holy  Spirit  who  in- 
spired the  holy  Scriptures  alone  can  interpret  them  with 
power  to  the  heart.” 

The  inquisitors  burned  his  books;  at  which,  my  inform- 
ant said,  the  old  man  wept. 

“Why,”  he  said,  “should  men  be  so  inflamed  against 
him?  There  was  so  much  in  his  books  that  was  good,  and 
must  they' be  all  burned  for  the  little  evil  that  was  mixed 
with  the  good?  Surely  this  was  man’s  judgment,  not 
God’s — not  his  who  would  have  spared  Sodom,  at  Abra- 
ham’s prayer,  for  but  ten  righteous,  had  they  been  found 
there.  Oh  God,”  he  sighed,  “must  the  good  perish  with 
the  evil?” 

But  the  inquisitors  were  not  to  be  moved.  The  books 
were  condemned  and  ignominiously  burned  in  public,  the 
old  man’s  name  was  branded  with  heresy;  and  he  himself 
was  silenced,  and  left  in  the  convent  prison  to  die. 

I asked  the  monk  who  told  me  of  this,  what  were  the 
especial  heresies  for  which  John  of  Wesel  was  condemned. 

“ Heresies  against  the  church,  I believe,”  he  replied.  “ I 
have  heard  him  in  his  sermons  declare  that  the  church  was 
becoming  like  what  the  Jewish  nation  was  in  the  days  of 
our  Lord.  He  protested  against  the  secular  splendors  of 
the  priests  and  prelates — against  the  cold  ceremonial  into 
which  he  said  the  services  had  sunk,  and  the  empty  super- 
stitions which  wrere  substituted  for  true  piety  of  heart  and 
life.  He  said  that  the  salt  had  lost  its  savor;  that  many 
of  the  priests  were  thieves  and  robbers,  and  not  shepherds, 
that  the  religion  in  fashion  was  little  better  than  that  of 


THE  SOU ON B Ell G~CO TTA  FAMILY. 


219 


the  Pharisees  who  put  our  Lord  to  death — a cloak  for  spirit- 
ual pride,  and  narrow,  selfish  bitterness.  He  declared  that 
divine  and  ecclesiastical  authority  were  of  very  different 
weight;  that  the  outward  professing  church  was  to  be  dis- 
tinguished from  the  true  living  church  of  Christ;  that  the 
power  of  absolution  given  to  the  priests  was  sacramental, 
and  not  judicial.  In  a sermon  at  YVorms,  I once  heard  him 
say  he  thought  little  of  the  pope,  the  church  or  the  coun- 
cils, as  a foundation  to  build  our  faith  upon.  ‘Christ 
alone,’  he  declared,  ‘I  praise.  May  the  word  of  Christ 
dwell  in  us  richly.’  ” 

“They  were  bold  words,”  I remarked. 

“More  than  that,”  replied  the  aged  monk;  “John  of 
Wesel  protested  that  what  the  Bible  did  not  hold  as  sin, 
neither  could  he;  and  he  is  even  reported  to  have  said,  ‘eat 
on  fast  days,  if  thou  art  hungry.’  ” 

“That  is  a concession  many  of  the  monks  scarcely  need,” 
I observed.  “His  life,  then,  was  not  condemned,  but  only 
his  doctrine.” 

“I  was  sorry,”  the  old  monk  resumed,  “that  it  was 
necessary  to  condemn  him;  for  from  that  time  to  this,  I 
never  have  heard  preaching  that  stirred  the  heart  like  his. 
When  he  ascended  the  pulpit,  the  church  was  thronged. 
The  laity  understood  and  listened  to  him  as  eagerly  as  the 
religious.  It  was  a pity  he  was  a heretic,  for  I do  not  ex- 
pect ever  to  hear  his  like  again.” 

“You  have  never  heard  Dr.  Luther  preach?”  I said. 

“Dr.  Luther  who  wrote  those  theses  they  are  talking  so 
much  of?”  he  asked.  “Do  the  people  throng  to  hear  his 
sermons,  and  hang  on  his  words  as  if  they  were  words  of 
life?” 

“They  do,”  I replied. 

“Then,”  rejoined  the  old  monk  softly,  “let  Dr.  Luther 
take  care.  That  was*  the  way  with  so  many  of  the  heretical 
preachers.  With  John  of  Goch  at  Mechlin,  and  John 
Wesel  whom  they  expelled  from  Paris,  I have  heard  it  was 
just  the  same.  But,”  he  continued,  “if  Dr.  Luther  comes 
to  Mainz,  I will  certainly  try  to  hear  him.  I should  like 
to  have  my  cold,  dry,  old  heart  moved  like  that  again. 
Often  when  I read  the  holy  gospels  his  words  come  back. 
Brother,  it  was  like  the  breath  of  life.” 

The  last  man  that  ventured  to  say  in  the  face  of  Ger- 
many that  man’s  word  is  not  to  be  placed  on  an  equality 


THE  SUHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


220 

with  God’s,  and  that  the  Bible  is  the  only  standard  of 
truth,  and  the  one  rule  of  right  and  wrong — this  is  how  he 
died! 

How  will  it  he  with  the  next — with  the  man  that  is  pro- 
claiming this  in  the  face  of  the  world  now? 

The  old  monk  turned  back  to  me,  after  we  had  separated, 
and  said,  in  a low  voice: 

“Tell  Dr.  Luther  to  take  warning  by  John  of  Wesel. 
Holy  men  and  great  preachers  may  so  easily  become  heretics 
without  knowing  it.  And  yet,”  he  added,  “to  preach  such 
sermons  as  John  of  Wesel,  I am  not  sure  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  die  in  prison.  I think  I could  be  content  to  die, 
if  I could  hear  one  such  again!  Tell  Dr.  Luther  to  take 
care;  but,  nevertheless  if  he  comes  to  Mainz  I will  hear 
him.” 

The  good,  then,  in  John  of  Wesel’s  words,  has  not  per- 
ished, in  spite  of  the  flames. 


PABT  XIV. 

else’s  story. 

Wittenberg,  July  13,  1520. 

Many  events  have  happened  since  last  I wrote,  both  in 
(his  little  world  and  in  the  large  world  outside.  Our 
Gretchen  has  two  little  brothers,  who  are  as  ingenious  in 
destruction,  and  seem  to  have  as  many  designs  against  their 
own  welfare,  as  their  uncle  had  at  their  age,  and  seem  likely 
to  perplex  Gretchen,  dearly  a&  she  loves  them,  much  as 
Christopher  and  Pollux  did  me.  Chriemhild  is  married, 
and  has  gone  to  her  home  in  the  Thuringian  Forest.  At- 
lantis is  betrothed  to  Conrad  Winkelried,  a Swiss  student. 
Pollux  is  gone  to  Spain,  on  some  mercantile  affairs  of  the 
Eisenach  house  of  Cotta,  in  which  he  is  a partner;  and 
Fritz  has  been  among  us  once  more.  That  is  now  about 
two  years  since.  He  was  certainly  much  graver  than  of 
old.  Indeed  he  often  looked  more  than  grave,  as  if  some 
weight  of  sorrow  rested  on  him.  But  with  our  mother  and 
the  children  he  was  always  cheerful. 

Gretchen  and  Uncle  Fritz  formed  the  strongest  mutual 


THE  BCEONB ERG-CO TTA  FAMILY. 


221 


attachment,  and  to  this  day  she  often  asks  me  when  he  will 
come  back;  and  nothing  delights  her  more  than  to  sit  on 
my  knee  before  his  picture,  and  hear  me  tell  over  and  over 
again  the  stories  of  our  old  talks  in  the  lumber-room  at 
Eisenach,  or  of  the  long  days  we  used  to  spend  in  the  pine 
forests,  gathering  wood  for  the  winter  fires.  She  thinks 
no  festival  could  be  so  delightful  as  that;  and  her  favorite 
amusement  is  to  gather  little  bundles  of  willow  or  oak  twigs, 
by  the  river  Elbe  or  on  the  Diiben  Heath  and  bring  them 
home  for  household  use.  All  the  splendid  puppets  and 
toys  her  father  brings  her  from  Nuremberg  or  has  sent 
from  Venice  do  not  give  her  half  the  pleasure  that  she  finds 
in  the  heath  when  he  takes  her  there  and  she  returns  with 
her  little  apron  full  of  dry  sticks,  and  her  hand  as  brown 
and  dirty  as  a little  wood-cutter’s,  fancying  she  is  doing 
what  Uncle  Fritz  and  I did  when  we  were  children,  and 
being  useful. 

Last  summer  she  was  endowed  with  a special  apple  and 
pear  tree  of  her  own,  and  the  fruit  of  these  she  stores  with 
her  little  faggots  to  give  at  Christmas  to  a poor  old  woman 
we  know. 

Gottfried  and  I want  the  children  to  learn  early  that  pure 
joy  of  giving,  and  of  doing  kindnesses,  which  transmutes 
wealth  from  dust  into  true  gold,  and  prevents  these  posses- 
sions which  are  such  good  servants  from  becoming  our  mas- 
ters, and  reducing  us,  as  they  seem  to  do  so  many  wealthy 
people,  into  the  mere  slaves  and  hired  guardians  of  things. 

I pray  God  often  that  the  experience  of  poverty  which  I 
had  for  so  many  years  may  never  be  lost.  It  seems  to  me  a 
gift  God  has  given  me,  just  as  a course  at  the  university  is 
a gift.  I have  graduated  in  the  school  of  poverty,  and 
God  grant  I may  never  forget  the  secrets  of  poverty  taught 
me  about  the  struggles  and  wants  of  the  poor. 

The  room  in  which  I write  now,  with  its  carpets,  pic- 
tures, and  carved  furniture,  is  very  different  from  the  dear 
bare  old  lumber-room  where  I began  my  chronicle;  and  the 
inlaid  ebony  and  ivory  cabinet  on  which  my  paper  lies  is  a 
different  desk  from  the  piles  of  old  books  where  I used  to 
trace  the  first  pages  slowly  in  a childish  hand.  But  the 
poor  man’s  luxuries  will  always  be  the  most  precious  to  me. 
The  warm  sunbeams,  shining  through  the  translucent  vine- 
leaves  at  the  open  window,  are  fairer  than  all  the  jewel-like 
Venetian  glass  of  the  closed  casements  which  are  now  dying 


m 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


crimson  the  pages  of  Dr.  Luther’s  Commentary,  left  open 
on  the  window-seat  an  hour  since  by  Gottfried. 

But  how  can  I be  writing  so  much  about  my  own  tiny 
world,  when  all  the  world  around  me  is  agitated  by  such 
great  fears  and  hopes? 

At  this  moment,  through  the  open  window,  I see  Dr. 
Luther  and  Dr.  Philip  Melancthon  walking  slowly  up  the 
street  in  close  conversation.  The  hum  of  their  voices 
reaches  me  here,  although  they  are  talking  low.  How 
different  they  look,  and  are;  and  yet  what  friends  they 
have  become ! Probably,  in  a great  degree,  because  of  the 
difference.  The  one  looks  like  a veteran  soldier,  with  his 
rock -like  brow,  his  dark  eyes,  his  vigorous  form,  and  his 
firm  step;  the  other,  with  his  high,  expanded  forehead,  his 
thin,  worn  face,  and  his  slight,  youthful  frame,  like  a com- 
bination of  a young  student  and  an  old  philosopher. 

Gottfried  says  God  has  given  them  to  each  other  and  to 
Germany,  blessing  the  church  as  he  does  the  world  by  the 
union  of  opposites,  rain  and  sunshine,  heat  and  cold,  sea 
and  land,  husband  and  wife. 

How  those  two  great  men  (for  Gottfried  says  Dr.  Melanc- 
thon is  great,  and  I know  Dr.  Luther  is)  love  and  reverence 
each  other!  Dr.  Luther  says  he  is  but  the  fore-runner, 
and  Melancthon  the  true  prophet!  that  he  is  but  the  wood- 
cutter clearing  the  forest  with  rough  blows,  that  Dr.  Philip 
may  sow  the  precious  seed;  and  when  he  went  to  encounter 
the  legate  at  Augsburg,  he  wrote,  that  if  Philip  lived  it 
mattered  little  what  became  of  him. 

But  we  do  not  think  so,  nor  does  Dr.  Melancthon.  “No 
one,”  he  says,  “comes  near  Dr.  Luther,  and  indeed  the 
heart  of  the  whole  nation  hangs  on  him.  Who  stirs  the 
heart  of  Germany — of  nobles,  peasants,  princes,  women, 
children — as  he  does  with  his  noble,  faithful  words?” 

Twice  during  these  last  years  we  have  been  in  the  greatest 
anxiety  about  his  safety — once  when  he  was  summoned  be- 
fore the  legate  at  Augsburg,  and  once  when  he  went  to  the 
great  disputation  with  Dr.  Eck  at  Leipsic. 

But  how  great  the  difference  between  his  purpose  when 
he  went  to  Augsburg,  and  when  he  returned  from  Leipsic! 

At  Augsburg  he  would  have  conceded  anything,  but  the 
truth  about  the  free  justification  of  every  sinner  who  be- 
lieves in  Christ.  He  reverenced  the  pope,  he  would  not 
for  the  world  become  a heretic.  No  name  of  opprobrium 
was  so  terrible  to  him  as  that 


THE  SGE ONBEll G-COTTA  FAMILY . 


223 


. At  Leipsic  he  had  learned  to  disbelieve  that  the  pope  had 
any  authority  to  determine  doctrine,  and  he  boldly  confessed 
that  the  Hussites  (men  till  now  abhorred  in  Saxony  as 
natural  enemies  as  well  as  deadly  heretics)  ought  to  he 
honored  for  confessing  sound  truth.  And  from  that  time 
both  Dr.  Luther  and  Melancthon  have  stood  forth  openly 
as  the  champions  of  the  word  of  God  against  the  papacy. 

Now,  however,  a worse  danger  threatens  him,  even  the 
bull  of  excommunication  which  they  say  is  now  being  forged 
at  Rome,  and  which  has  never  yet  failed  to  crush  where  it 
has  fallen.  Dr.  Luther  has,  indeed,  taught  us  not  to  dread 
it  as  a spiritual  weapon,  but  we  fear  its  temporal  effects, 
especially  if  followed  by  the  ban  of  the  empire. 

Often,  indeed,  he  talks  of  taking  refuge  in  some  other 
land;  the  good  elector,  even,  himself,  has  at  times  advised 
it,  fearing  no  longer  to  be  able  to  protect  him.  But  God 
preserve  him  to  Germany. 

June  23,  1520. 

This  evening,  as  we  were  sitting  in  my  father’s  house, 
Christopher  brought  us,  damp  from  the  press,  a copy  of 
Dr.  Luther’s  appeal  to  his  imperial  majesty,  and  to  the 
Christian  nobility  of  the  German  nation,  on  the  reforma- 
tion of  Christendom.  Presenting  it  to  our  grandmother, 
he  said: 

“Here,  madam,  is  a weapon  worthy  of  the  bravest  days 
of  the  Schonbergs,  mighty  to  the  pulling  down  of  strong- 
holds.” 

“Ah,”  sighed  our  mother,  “always  wars  and  fightings! 
It  is  a pity  the  good  work  cannot  be  done  more  quietly.” 

“Ah,  grandmother,”  said  my  father,  “only  see  how  her 
burgher-life  has  destroyed  the  heroic  spirit  of  her  crusading 
ancestors.  She  thinks  that  the  holy  places  are  to  be  won 
back  from  the  infidels  without  a blow,  only  by  begging 
their  pardon  and  kissing  the  hem  of  their  garments.” 

“ You  should  hear  Catherine  Krapp,  Dr.  Melancthon’s 
wife !”  rejoined  our  mother;  “ she  agrees  with  me  that  these 
are  terrible  times.  She  says  she  never  sees  the  doctor  go 
away  without  thinking  he  may  be  immured  in  some  dread- 
ful dungeon  before  they  meet  again.” 

“But  remember,  dear  mother,”  I said,  “your  fears  when 
first  Dr.  Luther  assailed  Tetzel  and  his  indulgences  three 
years  ago!  And  who  has  gained  the  victory  there!  Bi% 


THE  SCHOJSTB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


224 


Martin  is  the  admiration  of  all  good  men  throughout  Ger- 
many; and  poor  Tetzel,ydespised  by  his  own  party,  rebuked 
by  the  legate,  died,  they  say,  of  a broken  heart  just  after 
the  great  Leipsic  disputation.” 

“Poor  Tetzel!”  said  my  mother  “his  indulgences  could 
not  bind  up  a broken  heart.  I shall  always  love  Dr. 
Luther  for  waiting  him  a letter  of  comfort  when  he  was 
dying,  despised  and  forsaken  even  by  his  own  party.  I 
trust  that  .He  who  can  pardon  has  had  mercy  on  his  soul.” 
“Read  to  us,  Christopher,”  said  our  grandmother;  “your 
mother  would  not  shrink  from  any  battlefield  if  there  were 
wounds  there  which  her  hands  could  bind.” 

“No,”  said  Gottfried,  “the  end  of  war  is  peace,  God’s 
peace,  based  on  his  truth.  Blessed  are  those  who  in  the 
struggle  never  lose  sight  of  the  end.” 

Christopher  read,  not  without  interrupion.  Many 
things  in  the  book  were  new  and  startling  to  most  of  us: 
“It  is  not  rashly,”  Dr.  Luther  began,  “that  I,  a man  of 
the  people,  undertake  to  address  your  lordships.  The 
wretchedness  and  oppression  that  now  overwhelm  all  the 
states  of  Christendom,  and  Germany  in  particular,  force 
from  me  a cry  of  distress.  I am  constrained  to  call  for 
help;  I must  see  whether  God  will  not  bestow  his  Spirit  on 
some  man  belonging  to  our  country,  and  stretch  forth  his 
hand  to  our  unhappy  nation.” 

Dr.  Luther  never  seems  to  think  he  is  to  do  the  great 
work.  He  speaks  as  if  he  were  only  fulfilling  some  plain 
humble  duty,  and  calling  other  men  to  undertake  the  great 
achievement;  and  all  the  while  that  humble  duty  is  the 
great  achievement,  and  he  is  doing  it. 

Dr.  Luther  spoke  of  the  wretchedness  of  Italy,  the  un- 
happy land  where  the  pope’s  throne  is  set,  her  ruined 
monasteries,  her  decayed  cities,  her  corrupted  people;  and 
then  he  showed  how  Roman  avarice  and  pride  were  seeking 
to  reduce  Germany  to  a state  as  enslaved.  He  appealed  to 
the  young  emperor,  Charles,  soon  about  to  be  crowned. 
He  reminded  all  the  rulers  of  their  responsibilities.  He 
declared  that  the  papal  territory,  called  the  patrimony  of 
St.  Peter,  was  the  fruit  of  robbery.  Generously  holding 
out  his  hand  to  the  very  outcasts  his  enemies  had.  sought  to 
insult  him  most  grievously  by  comparing  him  with,  he 
said : 

“It  is  time  that  we  were  considering  the  cause  of  the 
Bohemians,  and  reuniting  ourselves  to  them.” 


THE  SCHOHB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


225 


At  these  words  my  grandmother  dropped  her  work,  and 
fervently  clasping  her  hands,  leaned  forward,  and  fixing  her 
eyes  on  Christopher,  drank  in  every  word  with  intense 
eagerness. 

When  he  came  to  the  denunciation  of  the  begging  friars, 
and  the  recommendation  that  the  parish  priests  should 
marry,  Christopher  interrupted  himself  by  an  enthusiastic 
“ vivat .” 

When,  however,  after  a vivid  picture  of  the  oppressions 
and  avarice  of  the  legates,  came  the  solemn  abjuration: 

“Hearest  thou  this,  oh  pope,  not  most  holy  but  most 
sinful?  May  God  from  the  heights  of  his  heaven  soon  hurl 
thy  throne  into  the  abyss!”  my  mother  turned  pale  and 
crossed  herself. 

What  impressed  me  most  was  the  plain  declaration : 

“It  has  been  alleged  that  the  pope,  the  bishops,  the 
priests,  and  the  monks  and  nuns  form  the  estate  spiritual 
or  ecclesiastical;  while  the  princes,  nobles,  burgesses  and 
peasantry  form  the  secular  estate  or  laity.  Let  no  man, 
however,  be  alarmed  at  this.  All  Christiana  constitute  the 
spiritual  estate;  and  the  only  difference  among  them  is  that 
of  the  functions  which  they  discharge.  We  have  all  one 
baptism,  one  faith,  and  it  is  this  which  constitutes  the 
spiritual  man.” 

If  this  is  indeed  true,  how  many  of  my  old  difficulties  it 
removes  with  a stroke ! All  callings,  then,  may  be  religious 
callings;  all  men  and  women  of  a religious  order.  Then 
my  mother  is  truly  and  undoubtedly  as  much  treading 
the  way  appointed  her  as  Aunt  Agnes;  and  the  monastic 
life  is  only  one  among  callings  equally  sacred. 

When  1 said  this  to  my  mother,  she  said,  “ I as  religious 
a woman  as  Aunt  Agnes!  No,  Else!  whatever  Dr.  Luther 
ventures  to  declare,  he  would  not  say  that.  I do  sometimes 
have  a hope  that  for  his  dear  Son’s  sake  God  hears  even 
my  poor  feebly  prayers;  but  to  pray  night  and  day,  and 
abandon  all  for  God,  like  my  sister  Agnes,  that  is  another 
thing  altogether.” 

But  when,  as  we  crossed  the  street  to  our  home,  I told 
Gottfried  how  much  those  words  of  Dr.  Luther  had  touched 
me,  and  asked  if  he  really  thought  we  in  our  secular  call- 
ing were  not  only  doing  our  work  by  a kind  of  indirect 
permission,  but  by  a direct  vocation  from  God,  he  replied: 

“ My  doubt,  Else,  is  whether  the  vocation  which  leads 


226 


THE  SCHONB ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY . 


men  to  abandon  home  is  from  God  at  all;  whether  it  has 
either  his  command  or  even  his  permission.” 

But  if  Gottfried  is  right,  Fritz  has  sacrificed  his  life  to 
a delusion.  How  can  I belive  that?  And  yet  if  he  could 
perceive  it,  how  life  might  change  for  him ! Might  he  not 
even  yet  be  restored  to  us?  But  I am  dreaming. 

October  25,  1520. 

More  and  more  burning  words  from  Dr.  Luther.  To- 
day we  have  been  reading  his  new  book  on  the  Babylonish 
Captivity.  “God  has  said,”  he  writes  in  this,  “‘Who- 
soever shall  believe  and  be  baptized  shall  be  saved.  ’ On 
this  promise,  if  we  receive  it  with  faith,  hangs  our  whole 
salvation.  If  we  believe,  our  heart  is  fortified  by  the  divine 
promise;  and  although  all  should  forsake  the  believer,  this 
promise  which  he  believes  will  never  forsake  him.  With  it 
he  will  resist  the  adversary  who  rushes  upon  his  soul  and 
will  have  wherewithal  to  answer  pitiless  death,  and  even  the 
judgment  of  God.”  And  he  says  in  another  place,  “The 
vow  made  at  our  baptism  is  sufficient  of  itself,  and  compre- 
hends more  than  we  can  ever  accomplish.  Hence  all  other 
vows  may  be  abolished.  Whoever  enters  the  priesthood  or 
any  religious  order,  let  him  well  understand  that  the  works 
of  a monk  or  of  a priest,  however  difficult  they  may  be, 
differ  in  no  respect  in  the  sight  of  God  from  those  of  a 
countryman  who  tills  the  ground,  or  of  a woman  who  con- 
ducts a household.  God  values  all  things  by  the  standard 
of  faith.  And  it  often  happens  that  the  simple  labor  of  a 
male  or  female  servant  is  more  agreeable  to  God  than  the 
fasts  and  the  works  of  a monk,  because  in  these  faith  is 
wanting.” 

What  a consecration  this  thought  gives  to  my  commonest 
duties!  Yes,  when  I am  directing  the  maids  in  their  work, 
or  sharing  Gottfried’s  cares,  or  simply  trying  to  brighten 
his  home  at  the  end  of  the  busy  day,  or  lulling  my  children 
to  sleep,  can  I indeed  be  serving  God  as  much  as  Dr. 
Luther  at  the  altar  or  in  his  lecture-room?  I also,  then, 
have  indeed  my  vocation  direct  from  God. 

How  could  I ever  have  thought  the  mere  publication  of 
a book  would  have  been  an  event  to  stir  our  hearts  like  the 
arrival  of  a friend!  Yet  it  is  even  thus  with  every  one  of 
those  pamphlets  of  Dr.  Luther’s.  They  move  the  whole 
of  our  two  households,  from  our  grandmother  to  Thekla, 


THE  SCH ONBERO-CO TTA  FAMILY . 


227 


and  even  the  little  maid,  to  whom  I read  portions.  She 
says,  with  tears,  “If  the  mother  and  father  could  hear  this 
in  the  forest !”  Students  and  burghers  have  not  patience 
to  wait  till  they  reach  home,  but  read  the  heart-stirring 
pages  as  they  walk  through  the  streets.  And  often  an  audi- 
ence collects  around  some  communicative  reader,  who 
cannot  be  content  with  keeping  the  free,  liberating  truths 
to  himself. 

Already,  Christopher  says,  four  thousand  copies  of  the 
“ Appeal  to  the  Nobility,”  are  circulating  through  Germany. 

I always  thought  before  of  books  as  the  peculiar  prop- 
erty of  the  learned.  But  Dr.  Luther’s  books  are  a living 
voice — a heart  God  has  awakened  and  taught,  speaking 
to  countless  hearts  as  a man  talketh  with  his  friend.  I 
can  indeed  see  now,  with  my  father  and  Christopher,  that 
the  printing-press  is  a nobler  weapon  than  even  the  spears 
and  broadswords  of  our  knightly  Bohemian  ancestors. 

Wittenberg,  December  10,  1520. 

Dr.  Luther  has  taken  a great  step  to-day.  He  has 
publicly  burned  the  Decretals,  with  other  ancient  writ- 
ings, on  which  the  claims  of  the  court  of  Borne  are 
founded,  but  which  are  now  declared  to  be  forgeries;  and 
more  than  this,  he  has  burned  the  pope’s  bull  of  excommuni- 
cation against  himself. 

Gottfried  says  that  for  centuries  such  a bonfire  as  this 
has  not  been  seen.  He  thinks  it  means  nothing  less  than 
an  open  and  deliberate  renunciation  of  the  papal  tyranny 
which  for  so  many  hundred  years  has  held  the  whole  of 
western  Christendom  in  bondage.  He  took  our  two  boys 
to  see  it,  that  we  may  remind  them  of  it  in  after  years  as 
the  first  great  public  act  of  freedom. 

Early  in  the  morning  the  town  was  astir.  Many  of  the 
burghers,  professors,  and  students  knew  what  was  about 
to  be  done;  for  this  was  no  deed  of  impetuous  haste  or 
angry  vehemence. 

I dressed  the  children  early,  and  we  went  to  my  father’s 
house. 

Wittenberg  is  as  full  now  of  people  of  various  languages 
as  the  tower  of  Babel  must  have  been  after  the  confusion  of 
tongues.  But  never  was  this  more  manifest  than  to-day. 

Flemish  monks  from  the  Augustine  cloisters  at  Antwerp; 
Dutch  students  from  Finland;  Swiss  youths,  with  their 


228 


THE  tiGHONB ER G-CO TTA  FAMILY . 


erect  forms  and  free  mountain  gait;  knights  from  Prussia 
and  Lithuania;  strangers  even  from  quite  foreign  lands,  all 
attracted  hither  by  Dr.  Luther’s  living  words  of  truth, 
passed  under  our  windows  about  nine  o’clock  this  morning, 
in  the  direction  of  the  Elster  gate,  eagerly  gesticulating 
and  talking  as  they  went.  Then  Thekla,  Atlantis,  and  I 
mounted  to  an  upper  room,  and  watched  the  smoke  rising 
from  the  pile,  until  the  glare  of  the  conflagration  burst 
through  it,  and  stained  with  a faint  red  the  pure  daylight. 

Soon  afterward  the  crowds  began  to  return;  but  there 
seemed  to  me  to  be  a gravity  and  solemnity  in  the  manner  of 
most,  different  from  the  eager  haste  with  which  they  had 
gone  forth. 

“ They  seem  like  men  returning  from  some  great  church 
festival,”  I said. 

“ Or  from  the  lighting  of  a signal-fire  on  the  mountains, 
which  shall  wake  the  whole  land  to  freedom,”  said  Christo- 
pher, as  they  rejoined  us. 

“ Or  from  binding  themselves  with  a solemn  oath  to  liber- 
ate their  homes,  like  the  Three  Men  at  Gruth,”  said  Con- 
rad Winkelried,  the  young  Swiss  to  whom  Atlantis  is 
betrothed. 

“Yes,”  said  Gottfried,  “fires  which  may  be  the  beacons 
of  a world’s  deliverance,  and  may  kindle  the  death-piles  of 
those  who  dared  to  light  them,  are  no  mere  students’ 
bravado.” 

“Who  did  the  deed,  and  what  was  burned?”  I asked. 

“One  of  the  masters  of  arts  lighted  the  pile,”  my  hus- 
band replied,  “and  then  threw  on  it  the  Decretals,  the  false 
Epistles  of  St.  Clement,  and  other  forgeries,  which  have 
propped  up  the  edifice  of  lies  for  centuries.  And  when  the 
flames  which  consumed  them  had  done  their  work  and  died 
away,  Dr.  Luther  himself,  stepping  forward,  solemnly  laid 
the  pope’s  bull  of  excommunication  on  the  fire,  saying 
amid  the  breathless  silence,  cAs  thou  hast  troubled  the 
Lord’s  saints,. may  the  eternal  fire  destroy  thee.’  Not  a 
word  broke  the  silence  until  the  last  crackle  and  gleam  of 
those  symbolical  flames  had  ceased,  and  then  gravely  but 
joyfully  we  all  returned" to  our  homes.” 

“Children,”  said  our  grandmother,  “you  have  done  well; 
yet  you  are  not  the  first  that  have  defied  Rome.” 

“Nor  perhaps  the  last  she  will  silence,”  said  my  husband. 
“But  the  last  enemy  will  be  destroyed  at  last;  and  mean* 
time  every  martyr  is  a victor.” 


TEE  SGE ONBEU Q-GO TTA  FAMILY.  229 

EVA’S  STORY. 

I have  read  the  whole  of  the  New  Testament  through 
to  Sister  Beatrice  and  Aunt  Agnes.  Strangely  different 
auditors  they  were  in  powers  of  mind  and  in  experience  of 
life;  yet  both  met,  like  so  many  in  his  days  on  earth,  at  the 
feet  of  Jesus. 

“He  would  not  have  despised  me,  even  me,”  Sister 
Beatrice  would  say.  “ Poor,  fond  creature,  half-witted  or 
half-crazed,  they  call  me;  but  he  would  have  welcomed 
me.” 

“Does  he  not  welcome  you?”  I said. 

“You  think  so?  Yes,  I think — I am  sure  he  does.  My 
poor  broken  bits  and  remnants  of  sense  and  love,  he  will 
not  despise  them.  He  will  take  me  as  I am.” 

One  day  when  I had  been  reading  to  them  the  chapter  in 
St.  Luke  with  the  parables  of  the  lost  money,  the  lost 
sheep,  and  the  prodigal,  Aunt  Agnes,  resting  her  cheek  on 
her  thin  hand,  and  fixing  her  large  dark  eyes  on  me,  lis- 
tened with  intense  expectation  to  the  end;  and  then  she 
said : 

“Is  that  all,  my  child?  Begin  the  next  chapter.” 

I began  about  the  rich  man  and  the  unjust  steward;  but 
before  I had  read  many  words: 

“That  will  do,”  she  said  in  a disappointed  tone.  “It  is 
another  subject.  Then  not  one  of  the  Pharisees  came, 
after  all!  If  I had  been  there  among  the  hard,  proud 
Pharisees — as  I might  have  been  when  he  began,  wonder- 
ing, no  doubt,  that  he  could  so  forget  himself  as  to  eat 
with  publicans  and  sinners — if  I had  been  there,  and  had 
heard  him  speak  thus,  Eva,  I must  have  fallen  at  his  feet 
and  said,  ‘Lord,  I am  a Pharisee  no  more — I am  the  lost 
sheep,  not  one  of  the  ninety  and  nine — the  wandering  child, 
not  the  elder  brother.  Place  me  low,  low  among  the  pub- 
licans and  sinners — lower  than  any;  but  only  say  thou 
earnest  also  to  seek  me,  even  me .’  And,  child,  he  would  not 
have  sent  me  away.  But,  Eva,”  she  added  after  a pause, 
wiping  away  the  tears  which  ran  slowly  over  her  withered 
cheeks,  “is  it  not  said  anywhere  that  one  Pharisee  came  to 
him?” 

I looked,  and  could  find  it  nowhere  stated  positively  that 
one  Pharisee  had  abandoned  his  pride,  and  self-righteous- 
ness, and  treasures  of  good  works  for  Jesus.  It  seemed  all 


230  THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 

on  the  side  of  the  publicans.  Aunt  Agnes  was  at  times 
distressed. 

“And  yet,”  she  said,  “I  have  come.  I am  no  longer 
among  those  who  think  themselves  righteous  and  despise 
others.  But  I must  come  in  behind  all.  It  is  I,  not  the 
woman  who  was  a sinner,  who  am  the  miracle  of  his  grace; 
for  since  no  sin  so  keeps  men  from  him  as  spiritual  pride, 
there  can  be  no  sin  so  degrading  in  the  sight  of  the  pure 
and  humble  angels,  or  of  the  Lord.  But  look  again,  Eva! 
Is  there  not  one  instance  of  such  as  I being  saved?” 

I found  the  history  of  Nicodemus,  and  we  traced  it 
through  the  gospel  from  the  secret  visit  to  the  popular 
teacher  at  night,  to  the  open  confession  of  the  rejected 
Saviour  before  his  enemies. 

Aunt  Agnes  thought  this  might  be  the  example,  she 
sought;  but  she  wished  to  be  quite  sure. 

“ Nieodemus  came  in  humility  to  learn,”  she  said.  “We 
never  read  that  he  despised  others,  or  thought  he  could 
make  himself  a saint.” 

At  length  we  came  to  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  and 
there,  indeed,  we  found  the  history  of  one,  “ of  the  straitest 
sect,  a Pharisee,”  who  verily  thought  himself  doing  God 
service  by  persecuting  the  despised  Nazarenes  to  death. 
And  from  that  time  Aunt  Agnes  sought  out  and  cherished 
every  fragment  of  St.  Paul’s  history,  and  every  sentence  of 
his  sermons  and  writings.  She  had  found  the  example  she 
sought  of  the  “Pharisee  who  was  saved,”  in  him  who  ob- 
tained mercy,  “that  in  him  first  God  might  show  forth  the 
riches  of  his  long-suffering  to  those  who  thereafter,  through 
his  word,  should  believe.” 

She  determined  to  learn  Latin,  that  she  might  read  these 
divine  words  for  herself.  It  was  affecting  to  see  her  sit- 
ting among  tlie  novices  whom  I taught,  carefully  spelling 
out  the  words,  and  repeating  the  declensions  and  conjuga- 
tions. I had  no  such  patient  pupil;  for  although  many 
were  eager  at  first,  not  a few  relaxed  after  a few  weeks’  toil, 
not  finding  the  results  very  apparent,  and  said  it  would 
never  sound  so  natural  and  true  as  when  Sister  Ave  trans- 
lated it  for  them  into  German. 

I wish  some  learned  man  would  translate  the  Bible  into 
German.  Why  does  not  some  one  think  of  it?  There  is 
one  German  translation  from  the  Latin,  the  prioress  says, 
made  about  thirty  or  forty  years  ago;  but  it  is  very  large 


THE  SCHON BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


231 


and  costly,  and  not  in  language  that  attracts  simple  people. 
I wish  the  pope  would  spend  some  of  the  money  from  the 
indulgences  on  a new  translation  of  the  New  Testament. 
I think  it  would  please  God  much  more  than  building  St. 
Peter’s. 

Perhaps,  however,  if  people  had  the  German  New  Testa- 
ment they  would  not  buy  the  indulgences;  for  in  all  the 
Gospels  and  Epistles  I cannot  find  one  word  about  buying 
pardons;  and,  what  is  more  strange,  not  a word  about 
adoring  the  blessed  virgin,  or  about  nunneries  or  monas- 
teries. I cannot  see  that  the  holy  apostles  founded  one 
such  community,  or  recommended  any  one  to  do  so. 

Indeed,  there  is  so  much  in  the  New  Testament,  and  in 
what  I have  read  of  the  Old,  about  not  worshiping  any 
one  but  God,  that  I have  quite  given  up  saying  any  prayers 
to  the  blessed  mother,  for  many  reasons. 

In  the  first  place,  I am  much  more  sure  that  our  Lord 
can  hear  us  always  than  his  mother,  because  he  so  often 
says  so.  And  I am  much  more  sure  he  can  help,  because  I 
know  all  power  is  given  to  him  in  heaven  and  in  earth. 

And  in  the  next  place,  if  I were  quite  sure  that  the 
blessed  Virgin  and  the  saints  could  hear  me  always,  and 
could  help  or  would  intercede,  I am  sure  also  that  no  one 
among  them — not  the  holy  mother  herself — is  half  so  com- 
passionate and  full  of  love,  or  could  understand  us  so  well, 
as  he  who  died  for  us.  In  the  Gospels,  he  was  always  more 
accessible  than  the  disciples.  St.  Peter  might  be  impatient 
in  the  impetuosity  of  his  zeal.  Loving  indignation  might 
overbalance  the  forbearance  of  St.  John  the  beloved,  and 
he  might  wish  for  fire  from  heaven  on  those  who  refused  to 
receive  his  master.  All  the  holy  apostles  rebuked  the  poor 
mothers  who  brought  their  children,  and  would  have  sent 
away  the  woman  of  Canaan;  but  he  tenderly  took  the  little 
ones  into  his  arms  from  the  arms  of  the  mothers  the  dis- 
ciples had  rebuked.  His  patience  was  never  wearied ; he 
never  misunderstood  or  discouraged  any  one.  Therefore  I 
pray  to  him  and  our  Father  in  heaven  alone,  and  through 
him  alone.  Because  if  he  is  more  pitiful  to  sinners  than 
all  the  saints,  which  of  all  the  saints  can  be  beloved  of  God 
as  he  is,  the  well-beloved  Son?  He  seems  all;  everything  in 
every  circumstance  we  can  ever  want.  Higher  mediation 
we  cannot  find,  tenderer  love  we  cannot  crave. 

And  very  sure  I am  that  the  meek  mother  of  the  Lord, 


232 


THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY . 


the  disciple  whom  Jesus  loved,  the  apostle  who  determined 
to  know  nothing  among  his  converts  save  Jesus  Christ,  and 
him  crucified,  will  not  regret  any  homage  transferred  from 
them  to  him. 

Nay,  rather,  if  the  blessed  virgin  and  the  holy  apostles 
have  heard  how,  through  all  these  years,  such  grievous  and 
unjust  tilings  have  been  said  of  their  Lord;  how  his  love 
has  been  misunderstood,  and  he  has  been  represented  as 
hard  to  be  entreated — he  who  entreated  sinners  to  come  and 
be  forgiven;  has  not  this  been  enough  to  shadow  their 
happiness,  even  in  heaven? 

A nun  has  lately  been  transferred  to  our  convent,  who 
came  originally  from  Bohemia,  where  all  her  relatives  had 
been  slain  for  adhering  to  the  party  of  John  Huss,  the 
heretic.  She  is  much  older  than  I am,  and  she  says  she 
remembers  well  the  name  of  my  family,  and  that  my  great- 
uncle,  Aunt  Agnes’  father,  died  a heretic!  She  cannot 
tell  what  the  heresy  was,  but  she  believes  it  was  something 
about  the  blessed  sacrament  and  the  authority  of  the  pope. 
She  had  heard  that  otherwise  he  was  a charitable  and  holy 
man. 

Was  my  father,  then,  a Hussite? 

I have  found  the  end  of  the  sentence  he  gave  me  as  his 
dying  legacy:  “God  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his 

only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  helieveth  in  him  should 
not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life”  And  instead  of 
being  in  a book  not  fit  for  Christian  children  to  read,  as 
the  priest  who  took  it  from  me  said,  it  is  in  the  holy  Scrip- 
tures! 

Can  it  be  possible  that  the  world  has  come  round  again 
to  the  state  it  was  in  when  the  rulers  and  priests  put  the 
Saviour  to  death,  and  St.  Paul  persecuted  the  disciples  as 
heretics? 

Nimptschen,  1520. 

A 'wonderful  book  of  Dr.  Luther’s  appeared  among  us 
a few  weeks  since,  on  the  Babylonish  Captivity;  and 
although  it  was  taken  from  us  by  the  authorities,  as  dan- 
gerous reading  for  nuns,  this  was  not  before  many  among 
us  had  become  acquainted  with  its  contents.  And  it  has 
created  a great  ferment  in  the  convent.  Some  say  they  are 
words  of  impious  blasphemy;  some  say  they  are  words  of 
living  truth.  He  speaks  of  the  forgiveness  of  sins  being 


THE  SCHOFB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


233 


free;  of  the  pope  and  many  of  the  priests  being  the  enemies 
of  the  truth  of  God;  and  of  the  life  and  calling  of  a monk 
or  nun  as  in  no  way  holier  than  that  of  any  humble  believ- 
ing secular  man  or  woman,  a nun  no  holier  than  a wife  or 
a household  servant! 

This  many  of  the  older  nuns  think  plain  blasphemy. 
Aunt  Agnes  says  it  is  true,  and  more  than  true;  for,  from 
what  I tell  her,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Aunt  Cotta  has 
been  a lowlier  and  holier  woman  all  her  life  than  she  can 
ever  hope  to  be. 

And  as  to  the  Bible  precepts,  they  certainly  seem  far  more 
adapted  to  people  living  in  homes  than  to  those  secluded  in 
convents.  Often  when  I am  teaching  the  young  novices 
the  precepts  in  the  Epistles,  they  say : 

“But  Sister  Ave,  find  some  precepts  for  us.  These  say- 
ings are  for  children,  and  wives,  and  mothers,  and  brothers, 
and  sisters;  not  for  those  who  have  neither  home  nor  kin- 
dred on  earth.” 

Then  if  I try  to  speak  of  loving  God  and  the  blessed 
Saviour,  some  of  them  say : 

“But  we  cannot  bathe  his  feet  with  tears,  or  anoint  them 
with  ointment,  or  bring  him  food,  or  stand  by  his  cross,  as 
the  good  women  did  of  old.  Shut  up  here,  away  from 
every  one,  how  can  we  show  him  that  we  love  him?” 

And  I can  only  say,  “Dear  sisters,  you  are  here  now; 
therefore  surely  God  will  find  some  way  for  you  to  serve 
him  here.” 

But  my  heart  aches  for  them,  and  I doubt  no  longer,  I 
feel  sure  God  can  never  have  meant  these  young,  joyous 
hearts  to  be  cramped  and  imprisoned  thus. 

Sometimes  I talk  about  it  with  Aunt  Agnes;  and  we  con- 
sider whether,  if  these  vows  are  indeed  irrevocable,  and 
these  children  must  never  see  their  homes  again,  the  con- 
vent could  not  one  day  be  removed  to  some  city  where  sick 
and  suffering  men  and  women  toil  and  die;  so  that  we 
might,  at  least,  feed  the  hungry,  clothe  the  naked,  and 
visit  and  minister  to  the  sick  and  sorrowful.  That  would 
be  life  once  more  instead  of  this  monotonous  routine, 
which  is  not  so  much  death  as  mechanism — an  inanimate 
existence  which  has  never  been  life. 


October,  1520. 

Sister  Beatrice  is  very  ill.  Aunt  Agnes  has  requested 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMIL  Y. 


234 

as  an  especial  favor  to  be  allowed  to  share  the  attending  on 
her  with  me.  Never  was  gentler  nurse  or  more  grateful 
patient. 

It  goes  to  my  heart  to  see  Aunt  Agnes  meekly  learning 
from  me  how  to  render  the  little  services  required  at  the 
sick-bed.  She  smiles,  and  says  her  feeble,  blundering  fin- 
gers had  grown  into  mere  machines  for  turning  over  the 
leaves  of  prayer-books,  just  as  her  heart  was  hardening  into 
a machine  for  saying  prayers.  Nine  of  the  young  nuns, 
Aunt  Agnes,  Sister  Beatrice,  and  I,  have  been  drawn  very 
closely  together  of  late.  Among  the  noblest  of  these  is 
Catharine  von  Bora,  a young  nun,  about  twenty  years  of 
age.  There  is  such  truth  in  her  full,  dark  eyes,  which  look 
so  kindly  and  frankly  into  mine,  and  such  character  in  the 
firmly  closed  mouth.  She  declines  learning  Latin,  and 
has  not  much  taste  for  learned  books;  but  she  has  much 
clear,  practical  good  sense,  and  she,  with  many  others, 
delights  greatly  in  Dr.  Luther’s  writings.  They  say  they 
are  not  books;  they  are  a living  voice.  Every  fragment  of 
information  I can  give  them  about  the  doctor  is  eagerly 
received,  and  many  rumors  reach  us  of  his  influence  in  the 
world.  When  he  was  near  Nimptschen,  two  years  ago,  at 
the  great  Leipsic  disputation,  we  heard  that  the  students 
were  enthusiastic  about  him,  and  that  the  common  people 
seemed  to  drink  in  his  words  almost  as  they  did  our  Lord’s 
when  he  spoke  upon  earth;  and  what  is  more,  that  the  lives 
of  some  men  and  women  at  the  court  have  been  entirely 
changed  since  they  had  heard  him.  We  were  told  he  had 
been  the  means  of  wonderful  conversions;  but  what  was 
strange  in  these  conversions  was,  that  those  so  changed  did 
not  abandon  their  position  in  life,  but  only  their  sins,  re- 
maining where  they  were  when  God  called  them,  and  dis- 
tinguished from  others,  not  by  a veil  or  cowl,  but  by  the 
light  of  holy  works. 

On  the  other  hand,  many,  especially  among  the  older 
nuns,  have  received  quite  contrary  impressions,  and  regard 
Dr.  Luther  as  a heretic,  worse  than  any  one  who  ever  rent 
the  church.  These  look  very  suspiciously  on  us,  and  sub- 
ject us  to  many  annoyances,  hindering  our  conversing 
and  reading  together  as  much  as  possible. 

We  do,  indeed,  many  of  us  wonder  that  Dr.  Luther 
should  use  such  fierce  and  harsh  words  against  the  pope’s 
servants.  Yet  St.  Paul  even  “ could  have  wished  that  those 


TI1E  SCHONBEIIG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


235 


were  cut  off”  that  troubled  his  flock ; and  the  very  lips  of 
divine  love  launched  woes  against  hypocrites  and  false 
shepherds  severer  than  any  that  the  Baptist  or  Elijah  ever 
uttered  in  their  denunciations  from  the  wilderness.  It 
seems  to  me  that  the  hearts  which  are  tenderest  toward  the 
wandering  sheep  will  ever  be  severest  against  the  seducing 
shepherds  who  lead  them  astray.  Only  we  need  always  to 
remember  that  these  very  false  shepherds  themselves  are, 
after  all,  but  wretched  lost  sheep,  driven  hither  and  thither 
by  the  great  robber  of  the  fold. 

1521. 

Just  now  the  hearts  of  the  little  band  among  us  who  owe 
so  much  to  Dr.  Luther  are  lifted  up  night  and  day  in 
prayer  to  God  for  him.  He  is  soon  to  be  on  his  way  to  the 
imperial  diet  at  Worms.  He  has  the  emperor’s  safe-con- 
duct, but  it  is  said  this  did  not  save  John  Huss  from  the 
flames.  In  our  prayers  we  are  much  aided  by  his  own 
commentary  on  the  book  of  Psalms,  which  I have  just  re- 
ceived from  Uncle  Cotta’s  printing-press. 

This  is  now  Sister  Beatrice’s  great  treasure,  as  I sit  by  her 
bedside  and  read  it  to  her. 

He  says  that  “the  mere  frigid  use  of  the  Psalms  in  the 
canonical  hours,  though  little  understood,  brought  some 
sweetness  of  the  breath  of  life  to  humble  hearts  of  old,  like 
the  faint  fragrance  in  the  air  not  far  from  a bed  of  roses.” 

He  says,  “All  other  books  give  us  the  words  and  deeds 
of  the  saints,  but  this  gives  us  their  inmost  souls.”  He 
calls  the  Psalter  “the  little  Bible.”  “There,”  he  says, 
“you  may  look  into  the  hearts  of  the  saints  as  into  paradise, 
or  into  the  opened  heavens,  and  see  the  fair  flowers  or  the 
shining  stars,  as  it  were, ''of  their  affections  springing  or 
beaming  up  to  God,  in  response  to  his  benefits  and  blessing.” 

March,  1521. 

News  has  reached  me  to-day  from  Wittenberg  which 
makes  me  feel  indeed  that  the  days  when  people  deem  they 
do  God  service  by  persecuting  those  who  love  him,  are  too 
truly  come  back.  Thekla  writes  me  that  they  have  thrown 
Fritz  into  the  convent  prison  at  Mainz,  for  spreading  Dr. 
Luther’s  doctrine  among  the  monks.  A few  lines  sent 
through  a friendly  monk  have  told  them  of  this.  She  sent 
them  on  to  me. 


236 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


“My  beloved  ones,”  he  writes,  “I  am  in  the  prison 
where,  forty  years  ago,  John  of  Wesel  died  for  the  truth. 
I am  ready  to  die  if  God  wills  it  so.  His  truth  is  worth 
dying  for,  and  his  love  will  strengthen  me.  But  if  I can  I 
will  escape,  for  the  truth  is  worth  living  for.  If,  however, 
you  do  not  hear  of  me  again,  know  that  the  truth  I died 
for  is  Christ’s,  and  that  the  love  which  sustained  me  is 
Christ  himself.  And  likewise,  that  to  the  last  I pray  for 
you  all,  and  for  Eva;  and  tell  her  that  the  thought  of  her 
has  helped  me  often  to  believe  in  goodness  and  truth,  and 
that  I look  assuredly  to  meet  her  and  all  of  you  again. 
Friedrich  Schonberg-Cotta.” 

The  prison!  death  itself  cannot  more  completely  sepa- 
rate Fritz  and  me.  Indeed,  of  death  itself  I have  often 
thought  as  bringing  us  a step  nearer,  rending  one  veil  be- 
tween us.  Yet,  now  th  t it  seems  so  possible — that  perhaps 
it  has  already  come — I feel  there  was  a kind  of  indefinable 
sweetness  in  being  only  on  the  same  earth  together,  in 
treading  the  same  pilgrim  way.  At  least  we  could  help 
each  other  by  prayer;  and  now,  if  he  is  indeed  treading  the 
streets  of  the  heavenly  city,  so  high  above,  the  world  does 
seem  darker. 

But,  alas!  he  may  not  be  in  the  heavenly  city,  but'  in 
some  cold  earthly  dungeon,  suffering  I know  not  what! 

I have  read  the  words  over  and  over,  until  I have  almost 
lost  their  meaning.  He  has  no  morbid  desire  to  die.  He 
will  escape  if  he  can,  and  he  is  daring  enough  to  accom- 
plish much.  And  yet,  if  the  danger  were  not  great,  lie 
would  not  alarm  Aunt  Cotta  with  even  the  possibility  of 
death.  He  always  considered  others  so  tenderly. 

He  says  I have  helped  him,  him  who  taught  and  helped 
me,  a poor  ignorant  child,  so  much!  Yet  I suppose  it  may 
be  so.  It  teaches  us  so  much  to  teach  others.  And  we 
always  understood  each  other  so  perfectly  with  so  few 
words.  I feel  as  if  blindness  had  fallen  on  me  when  I 
think  of  him  now.  My  heart  gropes  about  in  the  dark  and 
cannot  find  him. 

But  then  I look  up,  my  Saviour,  to  thee.  “To  thee  the 
night  and  the  day  are  both  alike.”  I dare  not  think  he  is 
suffering;  it  breaks  my  heart.  I cannot  rejoice  as  I would 
in  thinking  he  may  be  in  heaven.  I know  not  what  to  ask, 
but  thou  art  with  him  as  with  me.  Keep  him  close  under 
the  shadow  of  thy  wing.  There  we  are  safe,  and  there  we 


THE  SCIiONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


237 

are  together.  And  oh,  comfort  Aunt  Cotta!  She  must 
need  it  sorely. 

Fritz,  then,  like  our  little  company  at  Nimptschen,  loves 
the  words  of  Dr.  Luther.  When  I think  of  this  I rejoice 
almost  more  than  1 weep  for  him.  These  truths  believed 
in  our  hearts  seem  to  unite  us  more  than  prison  or  death 
can  divide.  When  I think  of  this  I can  sing  once  more 
St.  Bernard’s  hymn: 

SALVE  CAPUT  CRUENTATUM. 

Hail!  tliou  Head,  so  bruised  and  wounded, 

With  the  crown  of  thorns  surrounded, 

Smitten  with  the  mocking  reed, 

Wounds  which  may  not  cease  to  bleed 
Trickling  faint  and  slow. 

Hail!  from  whose  most  blessed  brow 
None  can  wipe  the  blood-drops  now; 

All  the  bloom  of  life  has  fled. 

Mortal  paleness  there  instead; 

Thou  before  whose  presence  dread 
Angels  trembling  bow. 

All  thy  vigor  and  thy  life 
Fading  in  this  bitter  strife; 

Death  his  stamp  on  thee  has  set. 

Hollow  and  emaciate, 

Faint  and  drooping  there. 

Thou  this  agony  and  scorn 
Hast  for  me  a sinner  borne! 

Me,  unworthy,  all  for  me! 

With’those  wounds  of  love  on  thee. 

Glorious  Face,  appear! 

Yet  in  this  thine  agony, 

Faithful  Shepherd,  think  of  me. 

From  whose  lips  of  love  divine 
Sweetest  draughts  of  life  are  mine. 

Purest  honey  flows; 

All  unworthy  of  thy  thought. 

Guilty,  yet  reject  me  not; 

Unto  me  thy  head  incline — 

Let  that  dying  head  of  thine 
In  my  arms  repose! 

Let  me  true  communion  know 
With  thee  in  thy  sacred  woe, 

Counting  all  beside  but  dross. 

Dying  with  thee  on  thy  cross; 

'Neath  it  will  I die! 


238 


THE  SCHONB ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


Thanks  to  thee  with  every  breath 
Jesus,  for  thy  bitter  death; 

Grant  thy  guilty  one  this  prayer: 
When  my  dying  hour  is  near, 
Gracious  God,  be  nigh! 

When  my  dying  hour  must  be, 

Be  not  absent  then  from  me; 

In  that  dreadful  hour,  I pray, 
Jesus,  come  without  delay; 

See,  and  set  me  free! 

When  thou  biddest  me  depart, 
Whom  I cleave  to  with  my  heart; 
Lover  of  my  soul,  be  near, 

With  thy  saving  cross  appear — 
Show  thyself  to  me! 


PAET  XV. 
thekla’s  story. 

Wittenberg,  April  2,  1521. 

Dr.  Luther  is  gone.  We  all  feel  like  a family  bereaved 
of  our  father. 

The  professors  and  chief  burghers,  with  numbers  of  the 
students,  gathered  around  the  door  of  the  Augustinian 
convent  this  morning  to  bid  him  farewell.  Gottfried 
Keichenbach  was  near  as  he  entered  the  carriage,  and  heard 
him  say,  as  he  turned  to  Melancthon,  in  a faltering  voice, 
“Should  I not  return,  and  should  my  enemies  put  me  to 
death,  oh  my  brother,  cease  not  to  teach  and  to  abide 
steadfastly  in  the  truth.  Labor  in  my  place,  for  I shall  not 
be  able  to  labor  myself.  If  you  be  spared  it  matters  little 
that  I perish.” 

And  so  he  drove  off.  And  a few  minutes  after,  we,  who 
were  waiting  at  the  door,  saw  him  pass.  He  did  not  for- 
get to  smile  at  Else  and  her  little  ones,  or  to  give  a word  of 
farewell  to  our  dear  blind  father  as  he  passed  us.  But 
there  was  a grave  steadfastness  in  his  countenance  that 
made  our  hearts  full  of  anxiety.  As  the  usher  with  the 
imperial  standard  who  preceded  him,  and  then  Dr.  Luther’s 
carriage,  disappeared  round  a corner  of  the  street,  our 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


239 

grandmother,  whose  chair  had  been  placed  at  the  door  that 
she  might  see  him  pass,  murmured,  as  if  to  herself : 

"Yes,  it  was  with  just  such  a look  they  went  to  the 
scaffold  and  the  stake  when  I was  young.” 

I could  see  little,  my  eyes  were  so  blinded  with  tears; 
and  when  our  grandmother  said  this,  I could  bear  it  no 
longer,  but  ran  up  to  my  room,  and  here  I have  been  ever 
since.  My  mother  and  Else  and  all  of  them  say  I have  no 
control  over  my  feelings;  and  I am  afraid  I have  not.  But 
it  seems  to  me  as  if  every  one  I lean  my  heart  on  were 
always  taken  away.  First  there  was  Eva.  She  always 
understood  me,  helped  me  to  understand  myself;  did  not 
laugh  at  my  perplexities  as  childish,  did  not  think  my 
over-eagerness  was  always  temper,  but  met  my  blundering 
efforts  to  do  right.  Different  as  she  was  from  me  (different 
as  an  angel  from  poor  bewildered  blundering  giant  Chris- 
topher in  Else’s  old  legend),  she  always  seemed  to  come 
down  to  my  level  and  see  my  difficulties  from  where  I stood, 
and  so  helped  me  over  them ; while  every  one  else  sees  them 
from  above,  and  wonders  any  one  can  think  such  trifles 
troubles  at  all.  Not,  indeed,  that  my  dear  mother  and 
Esle  are  proud,  or  mean  to  look  down  on  any  one;  but  Else 
is  so  unselfish,  her  whole  life  is  so  bound  up  in  others,  that 
she  does  not  know  what  more  willful  natures  have  to  con- 
tend with.  Besides,  she  is  now  out  of  the  immediate  circle 
of  our  everyday  life  at  home.  Then  our  mother  is  so  gen- 
tle; she  is  frightened  to  think  what  sorrows  life  may  bring 
me  with  the  changes  that  must  come,  if  little  things  give 
me  such  joy  or  grief  now.  I know  she  feels  for  me  often 
more  than  she  dares  to  let  me  see;  but  she  is  always  think- 
ing of  arming  me  for  the  trials  she  believes  must  come,  by 
teaching  me  to  be  less  vehement  and  passionate  about  trifles 
now.  But  I am  afraid  it  is  useless.  I think  every  creature 
must  suffer  according  to  its  nature;  and  if  God  has  made 
our  capacity  for  joy  or  sorrow  deep,  we  cannot  fill  up  the 
channel  and  say,  "Henceforth  I will  feel  so  far,  and  no 
further.”  The  waters  are  there — soon  they  will  recover  for 
themselves  the  old  choked-up  courses;  and  meantime  they 
will  overflow.  Eva  also  used  to  say,  "that  our  armor  must 
grow  with  our  growth,  and  our  strength  with  the  strength 
of  our  conflicts;  and  that  there  is  only  one  shield  which 
does  this,  the  shield  of  faith — a living,  daily  trust  in  a liv- 
ing, ever-present  God.” 


240 


THE  SGHONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY . 


But  Eva  went  away.  And  then  Nix  died.  I suppose  if 
I saw  any  child  now  mourning  over  a dog  as  I did  over  Nix, 
I should  wonder  much  as  they  all  did  at  me  then.  But 
Nix  was  not  only  a dog  to  me.  He  was  Eisenach  and  my 
childhood;  and  a whole  world  of  love  and  dreams  seemed 
to  die  for  me  with  Nix. 

To  all  the  rest  of  the  world  I was  a little,  vehement  girl 
of  fourteen;  to  Nix  I was  mistress,  protector,  everything. 
It  was  weeks  before  I could  bear  to  come  in  at  the  front 
door,  where  he  used  to  watch  for  me  with  his  wistful  eyes, 
and  bound  with  cries  of  joy  to  meet  me.  I used  to  creep 
in  at  the  garden  gate. 

And  then  Nix’s  death  was  the  first  approach  of  Deafh  to 
me,  and  the  dreadful  power  was  no  less  a power  because  its 
shadow  fell  first  for  me  on  a faithful  dog.  I began  dimly 
to  feel  that  life,  which  before  that  seemed  to  be  a moun- 
tain-path always  mounting  and  mounting  through  golden 
mists  to  I know  not  what  heights  of  beauty  and  joy,  did 
not  end  on  the  heights,  but  in  a dark  unfathomed  abyss,  and 
that  however  dim  its  course  might  be,  it  has  alas,  no  mists, 
or  uncertainty  around  the  nature  of  its  close,  but  ends 
certainly,  obviously,  and  universally,  in  death. 

I could  not  tell  any  one  what  I felt.  I did  not  know 
myself.  How  can  we  understand  a labyrinth  until  we  are 
through  it?  I did  not  even  know  it  was  a labyrinth.  I 
only  knew  that  a light  had  passed  away  from  everything 
and  a shadow  had  fallen  in  its  place. 

Then  it  was  that  Dr.  Luther  spoke  to  me  of  the  other 
world,  beyond  death,  which  God  would  certainly  make 
more  full  and  beautiful  than  this;  the  world  on  which  the 
shadow  of  Death  can  never  come,  because  it  lies  in  the 
eternal  sunshine,  on  the  other  side  of  death,  and  all  the 
shadows  fall  on  this  side.  That  was  about  the  time  of  my 
first  communion,  and  I saw  much  of  Dr.  Luther,  and  heard 
him  preach.  I did  not  say  much  to  him,  but  he  let  down 
a light  into  my  heart  which,  amid  all  its  wanderings  and 
mistakes,  will,  I believe,  never  go  out. 

He  made  me  understand  something  of  what  our  dear 
heavenly  Father  is,  and  that  willing  but  unequaled  Suf- 
ferer— that  gracious  Saviour  who  gave  himself  for  our  sins, 
even  for  mine.  And  he  made  me  feel  that  God  would 
understand  me  better  than  any  one,  because  love  always 
understands,  and  the  greatest  love  understands  best,  and 
God  is  love. 


THE  SGHONBERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


241 


Else  and  I spoke  a little  about  it  sometimes,  but  not 
much.  I am  still  a child  to  Else  and  to  all  of  them,  being 
the  youngest,  and  so  much  less  self-controlled  than  I ought 
to  be.  Fritz  understood  it  best;  at  least,  I could  speak  to 
him  more  freely — I do  not  know  why.  Perhaps  some  hearts 
are  made  to  answer  naturally  to  each  other,  just  as  some  of 
the  furniture  always  vibrates  when  I touch  a particular 
string  of  the  lute,  while  nothing  else  in  the  room  seems  to 
feel  it.  Perhaps,  too,  sorrow  deepens  the  heart  wonder- 
fully, and  opens  a channel  into  the  depths  of  all  other 
hearts.  And  I am  sure  Fritz  has  known  very  deep  sorrow. 
What,  I do  not  exactly  know;  and  I would  not  for  the 
world  try  to  find  out.  If  there  is  a secret  chamber  in  his 
heart,  which  he  cannot  bear  to  open  to  any  one,  when  I 
think  his  thoughts  are  there,  would  I not  turn  aside  my 
eyes  and  creep  softly  away,  that  he  might  never  know  I had 
found  it  out? 

The  innermost  sanctuary  of  his  heart  is,  however,  I 
know,  not  a chamber  of  darkness  and  death,  but  a holy 
place  of  daylight,  for  God  is  there. 

Hours  and  hours  Fritz  and  I spoke  of  Dr.  Luther,  and 
what  he  had  done  for  us  both ; more,  perhaps  for  Fritz  than 
even  for  me,  because  he  had  suffered  more.  It  seems  to 
me  as  if  we  and  thousands  besides  in  the  world  had  been 
worshiping  before  an  altar-picture  of  our  Saviour,  which 
we  had  been  told  was  painted  by  a great  master  after  a 
heavenly  pattern.  But  all  we  could  see  was  a grim,  hard, 
stern  countenance  of  one  sitting  on  a judgment  throne;  in 
his  hand  lightnings,  and  worse  lightnings  buried  in  the 
cloud  of  his  severe  and  threatening  brow.  And  then,  sud- 
denly we  heard  Dr.  Luther’s  voice  behind  us,  saying,  in  his 
ringing,  inspiriting  tones,  “Friends,  what  are  you  doing? 
That  is  not  the  right  painting.  These  are  only  the  boards 
which  hide  the  master’s  picture.”  And  so  saying,  he  drew 
aside  the  terrible  image  on  which  we  had  been  hopelessly 
gazing,  vainly  trying  to  read  some  traces  of  tenderness  and 
beauty  there.  And  all  at  once  the  real  picture  was  revealed 
to  us,  the  picture  of  the  real  Christ,  with  the  look  on  his 
glorious  face  which  he  had  on  the  cross,  when  he  said  of 
his  murderers,  “Father,  forgive  them;  they  know  not 
what  they  do;”  and  to  his  mother,  “Woman,  behold  thy 
son;”  or  to  the  sinful  woman  who  washed  his  feet,  “Go  in 
peace.” 


242 


THE  8CH0NBEHG-C0TTA  FAMIL  Y. 


Fritz  and  I also  spoke  very  often  of  Eva.  At  least,  he 
liked  me  to  speak  of  her  while  he  listened.  And  I never 
weary  of  speaking  of  our  Eva. 

But  then  Fritz  went  away.  And  now  it  is  many  weeks 
since  we  have  heard  from  him;  and  the  last  tidings  we  had 
were  that  little  note  from  the  convent-prison  at  Mainz ! 

And  now  Dr.  Luther  is  gone — gone  to  the  stronghold  of 
his  enemies — gone,  perhaps,  as  our  grandmother  says,  to 
martyrdom. 

And  who  will  keep  that  glorious  revelation  of  the  true, 
loving,  pardoning  God  open  for  us,  with  a steady  hand  keep 
open  those  false  shutters,  now  that  he  is  withdrawn?  Dr. 
Melancthon  may  do  as  well  for  the  learned,  for  the  theo- 
logians; but  who  will  replace  Dr.  Luther  to  us , to  the 
people,  to  working  men  and  eager  youths,  and  to  women 
and  to  children?  Who  will  make  us  feel  as  he  does  that 
religion  is  not  a study,  or  a profession,  or  a system  of  doc- 
trines, but  life  in  God;  that  prayer  is  not,  as  he  said,  an- 
ascension  of  the  heart  as  a spiritual  exercise  into  some  vague 
airy  heights,  but  the  lifting  of  the  heart  to  God , to  a heart 
which  meets  us,  cares  for  us,  loves  us  inexpressibly?  Who 
will  ever  keep  before  us  as  he  does  that  “ Our  Father,” 
which  makes  all  the  rest  of  the  Lord’s  prayer  and  all  pray- 
ers possible  and  helpful?  No  wonder  that  mothers  held 
out  their  children  to  receive  his  blessing  as  he  left  us  and 
then  went  home  weeping,  while  even  strong  men  brushed 
away  tears  from  their  eyes. 

It  is  true,  Dr.  Bugenhagen,  who  has  escaped  from  per- 
secution in  Pomerania,  preaches  fervently  in  his  pulpit; 
and  Archdeacon  Garlstadt  is  full  of  fire,  and  Dr.  Melancthon 
full  of  light;  and  many  good,  wise  men  are  left.  But  Dr. 
Luther  seemed  the  heart  and  soul  of  all.  Others  might 
say  wiser  things,  and  he  might  say  many  things  others 
would  be  too  wise  to  say,  but  it  is  through  Dr.  Luther’s 
heart  that  God  has  revealed  his  heart  and  his  word  to 
thousands  in  our  country,  and  no  one  can  ever  be  to  us 
what  he  is. 

Day  and  night  we  pray  for  his  safety. 

April  15. 

Christopher  has  returned  from  Erfurt,  where  he  heard 
Dr,  Luther  preach. 


THE  SCH ONB Ell O-GO TT A FAMILY. 


243 


He  told  us  that  in  many  places  his  progress  was  like  that 
of  a beloved  prince  through  his  dominions;  of  a prince  who 
was  going  out  to  some  great  battle  for  his  land. 

Peasants  blessed  him;  poor  men  and  women  thronged 
around  him  and  entreated  him  not  to  trust  his  precious  life 
among  his  enemies.  One  aged  priest  at  Nuremburg 
brought  out  to  him  a portrait  of  Savonarola,  the  good 
priest  whom  the  pope  burned  at  Florence  not  forty  years 
ago.  One  aged  widow  came  to  him  and  said  her  parents 
had  told  her  God  would  send  a deliverer  to  break  the  yoke 
of  Eome,  and  she  thanked  God  she  saw  him  before  she  died. 
At  Erfurt  sixty  burghers  and  professors  rode  out  some 
miles  to  escort  him  into  the  city.  There,  where  he  had 
relinquished  all  earthly  prospects  to  beg  bread  as  a monk 
through  the  streets,  the  streets  were  thronged  with  grateful 
men  and  women,  who  welcomed  him  as  their  liberator  from 
falsehood  and  spiritual  tyranny. 

Christopher  heard  him  preach  in  the  church  of  the 
Augustinian  convent,  where  he  had  (as  Fritz  told  me) 
suffered  such  agonies  of  conflict.  He  stood  there  now  an 
excommunicated  man,  threatened  with  death;  but  he  stood 
there  as  victor,  through  Christ,  over  the  tyranny  and  lies 
of  Satan.  He  seemed  entirely  to  forget  his  own  danger  in 
the  joy  of  the  eternal  salvation  he  came  to  proclaim.  Not 
a word,  Christopher  said,  about  himself,  or  the  Diet,  or  the 
pope’s  bull,  or  the  emperor,  but  all  about  the  way  a sinner 
may  be  saved,  and  a believer  may  be  joyful.  “ There  are  two 
kinds  of  works,”  he  said;  “ external  works,  our  own  works. 
These  are  worth  little.  One  man  builds  a church;  another 
makes  a pilgrimage  to  St.  Peter’s;  a third  fasts,  puts  on 
the  hood,  goes  barefoot.  All  these  works  are  nothing,  and 
will  perish.  Now,  I will  tell  you  what  is  the  true  good 
work.  God  hath  raised  again  a man , the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ , in  order  that  he  may  crush  death , destroy  sin , shut 
the  gates  of  hell . This  is  the  work  of  salvation.  The  devil 

believed  he  had  the  Lord  in  his  power  when  he  beheld  him 
between  two  thieves,  suffering  the  most  shameful  martyr- 
dom, accursed  both  of  heaven  and  man.  But  God  put  forth 
his  might,  and  annihilated  death,  sin,  and  hell.  Christ 
hath  won  the  victory.  This  is  the  great  news!  And  we 
are  saved  by  his  work,  not  by  our  works.  The  pope  says 
something  very  different.  But  I tell  you  the  holy  mother 
of  God  herself  has  been  saved,  not  by  her  virginity,  nor  by 


244 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


her  maternity,  nor  by  her  purity,  nor  by  her  works,  but 
solely  by  means  of  faith,  and  by  the  work  of  God.” 

Ashe  spoke  the  gallery  in  which  Christopher  stood  listen- 
ing cracked.  Many  were  greatly  terrified,  and  even  at- 
tempted to  rush  out.  Dr.  Luther  stopped  a moment,  and 
then  stretching  out  his  hand  said,  in  his  clear,  firm  voice, 
“Fear  not,  there  is  no  danger.  The  devil  would  thus 
hinder  the  preaching  of  the  gospel,  but  he  will  not  succeed.” 
Then  returning  to  his  text,  he  said,  “Perhaps  you  will  say 
to  me,  ‘You  speak  to  us  much  about  faith,  teach  us  how 
we  may  obtain  it.’  Yes,  indeed,  that  is  what  I desire  to 
teach  you.  Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  has  said,  ‘ Peace  be  unto 
you . Behold  my  hands.'  And  this  is  as  if  he  said,  ‘Oh 
man,  it  is  I alone  who  have  taken  away  thy.  sins,  and  who 
have  redeemed  thee,  and  now  thou  hast  peace , saith  the 
Lord.’  ” 

And  he  concluded: 

“Since  God  has  saved  us,  let  us  so  order  our  works  that 
he  may  take  pleasure  therein.  Art  thou  rich?  Let  thy 
goods  be  serviceable  to  the  poor.  Art  thou  poor?  Let  thy 
services  be  of  use  to  the  rich.  If  thy  labors  are  useless  to 
all  but  thyself,  the  services  thou  pretendest  to  render  to 
God  are  a mere  lie.” 

Christopher  left  Dr.  Luther  at  Erfurt.  He  said  many 
tried  to  persuade  the  doctor  not  to  venture  to  Worms; 
others  reminded  him  of  John  Huss,  burned  in  spite  of  the 
safe-conduct.  And  as  he  went,  in  some  places  the  papal 
excommunication  was  affixed  on  the  walls  before  his  eyes; 
but  he  said,  “If  I perish,  the  truth  will  not.” 

And  nothing  moved  him  from  his  purpose.  Christo- 
pher was  most  deeply  touched  with  that  sermon.  He  says 
the  text,  “Peace  be  unto  you;  and  when  he  had  so  said 
Jesus  showed  unto  them  his  hands  and  his  side,”  rang 
through  his  heart  all  the  way  home  to  Wittenberg,  through 
the  forest  and  the  plain.  The  pathos  of  the  clear,  true 
voice  we  may  never  hear  again  writes  them  on  his  heart; 
and  more  than  that,  I trust,  the  deeper  pathos  of  the  voice 
which  uttered  a cry  of  agony  once  on  the  cross  for  us — the 
agony  which  won  the  peace. 

Yes;  when  Dr.  Luther  speaks  he  makes  us  feel  we  have 
to  do  with  persons,  not  with  things — with  the  devil  who 
hates  us,  with  God  who  loves  us,  with  the  Saviour  who 
died  for  us.  It  is  not  holiness  only  and  justification,  or  sin 


THE  8CH0NB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


245 


and  condemnation.  It  is  we  sinning  and  condemned, 
Christ  suffering  for  us,  and  God  justifying  and  loving  us. 
It  is  all  I and  thou.  He  brings  us  face  to  face  with  God, 
not  merely  sitting  serene  on  a distant  imperial  throne, 
frowning  in  terrible  majesty,  or  even  smiling  in  gracious 
pity,  but  coming  down  to  us  close,  seeking  us,  and  caring, 
caring  unutterably  much,  that  we,  even  we,  should  be 
saved. 

I never  knew,  until  Dr.  Luther  drove  out  of  Wittenberg, 
and  the  car  with  the  cloth  curtains  to  protect  him  from  the 
weather,  which  the  town  had  provided,  passed  out  of  sight, 
and  I saw  the  tears  gently  flowing  down  my  mother’s  face, 
how  much  she  loved  and  honored  him. 

She  seems  almost  as  anxious  about  him  as  about  Fritz; 
and  she  did  not  reprove  me  that  night  when  she  came  in 
and  found  me  weeping  by  my  bed.  She  only  drew  me  to 
her  and  smoothed  down  my  hair,  and  said,  “Poor  little 
Thekla:  God  will  teach  us  both  how  to  have  none  other 
gods  but  himself.  He  will  do  it  very  tenderly;  but  neither 
thy  mother  nor  thy  Saviour  can  teach  thee  this  lesson  with- 
out many  a bitter  tear.” 

\ fritz’s  story. 

Ebernburg,  April  2,  1526. 

A chasm  has  opened  between  me  and  my  monastic  life. 
I have  been  in  the  prison,  and  in  the  prison  have  I received 
at  last,  in  full,  my  emancipation.  The  ties  I dreaded  im- 
patiently to  break  have  been  broken  for  me,  and  I am  a 
monk  no  longer. 

I could  not  but  speak  to  my  brethren  in  the  convent  of 
the  glad  tidings  which  had  brought  me  such  joy.  It  is  as 
impossible  for  Christian  life  not  to  diffuse  itseif  as  that  liv- 
ing water  should  not  flow,  or  that  flames  should  not 
rise.  Gradually  a little  band  of  Christ’s  freedmen  gathered 
around  me.  At  first  I did  not  speak  to  them  much  of  Dr. 
Luther’s  writings.  My  purpose  was  to  show  them  that 
Luther’s  doctrine  was  not  his  own,  but  God’s. 

But  the  time  came  when  Dr.  Luther’s  name  was  on 
every  lip.  The  bull  of  excommunication  went  forth  against 
him  from  the  Vatican.  His  name  was  branded  as  that  of 
the  vilest  of  heretics  by  every  adherent  of  the  pope.  In 
many  churches,  especially  those  of  the  Dominicans,  the 


246 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


people  were  summoned  by  the  great  bells  to  a solemn  serv- 
ice of  anathema,  where  the  whole  of  the  priests,  gathered 
at  the  altar  in  the  darkened  building,  pronounced  the  terri- 
ible  words  of  doom,  and  then,  flinging  down  their  blazing 
torches,  extinguished  them  on  the  stone  pavement,  as  hope, 
they  said,  was  extinguished  by  the  anathema  for  the  soul 
of  the  accursed. 

At  one  of  these  services  I was  accidentally  present.  And 
mine  was  not  the  only  heart  which  glowed  with  burning 
indignation  to  hear  that  worthy  name  linked  with  those  of 
apostates  and  heretics, and  held  up  to  universal  execration. 
But,  perhaps,  in  no  heart  there  did  it  enkindle  such  a fire 
as  in  mine.  Because  I knew  the  source  from  which  those 
curses  came,  how  lightly,  how  carelessly  those  fire-brands 
were  flung ; not  fiercely,  by  the  fanaticism  of  blinded  con- 
sciences, but  daintily  and  deliberately,  by  cruel,  reckless 
hands,  as  a matter  of  diplomacy  and  policy,  by  those  who 
cared  themselves  neither  for  God’s  curse  nor  his  blessing. 
And  I knew  also  the  heart  which  they  were  meant  to 
wound;  how  loyal,  how  tender,  how  true;  how  slowly,  and 
with  what  pain  Dr.  Luther  had  learned  to  believe  the  idols 
of  his  youth  a lie;  with  what  a wrench,  when  the  choice  at 
last  had  to  be  made  between  the  word  of  God  and  the  voice 
of  the  church,  he  had  clung  to  the  Bible,  and  let  the  hopes, 
and  trust,  and  friendships  of  earlier  days  be  torn  from  him ; 
what  anguish  that  separation  still  cost  him;  how  willingly, 
as  a humble  little  child,  at  the  sacrifice  of  anything  but 
truth  and  human  souls,  he  would  have  flung  himself  again 
on  the  bosom  of  that  church  to  whom,  in  his  fervent 
youth,  he  had  offered  up  all  that  makes  life  dear. 

“ They  curse , hut  bless  Thou.” 

The  words  came  unbidden  into  my  heart,  and  almost 
unconsciously  from  my  lips.  Around  me  I heard  more 
than  one  “Amen;”  but  at  the  same  time  I became  aware 
that  I was  watched  by  malignant  eyes. 

After  the  publication  of  the  excommunication,  they 
publicly  burned  the  writings  of  Dr.  Luther  in  the  great 
square.  Mainz  was  the  first  city  in  Germany  where  this 
indignity  was  offered  him. 

Mournfully  I returned  to  my  convent.  In  the  cloisters 
of  our  order  the  opinions  concerning  Luther  are  much 
divided.  The  writings  of  St.  Augustine  have  kept  the 
truth  alive  in  many  hearts  among  us;  and  besides  this, 


THE  SCHON BERG-COTTA  FAMILY,  247 

there  is  the  natural  bias  to  one  of  our  own  name, and  the  party 
opposition  to  the  Dominicans,  Tetzel  and  Eck,  Dr.  Luther’s 
enemies.  Probably  there  are  few  Augustinian  convents  in 
which  there  are  not  two  opposite  parties  in  reference  to  Dr. 
Luther. 

In  speaking  of  the  great  truths,  of  God  freely  justifying 
the  sinner  because,  Christ  died  (the  Judge  acquitting 
because  the  Judge  himself  had  suffered  for  the  guilty), 
I had  endeavored  to  trace  them,  as  I have  said,  beyond 
all  human  words  to  their  divine  authority.  But  now,  to 
confess  Luther  seemed  to  me  to  have  become  identical  with 
confessing  Christ.  It  is  the  truth  which  is  assailed  in  any 
age  which  tests  our  fidelity.  It  is  to  confess  we  are  called, 
not  merely  to  profess . If  I profess,  with  the  loudest 
voice  and  the  clearest  exposition,  every  portion  of  the 
truth  of  God  except  precisely  that  little  point  which  the 
world  and  the  devil  are  at  that  moment  attacking,  I am 
not  confessing  Christ,  however  boldly  I may  be  professing 
Christianity.  Where  the  battle  rages  the  loyalty  of  the 
soldier  is  proved;  and  to  be  steady  on  all  the  battlefield 
besides  is  mere  flight  and  disgrace  to  him  if  he  flinches  at 
that  one  point. 

It  seems  to  me  also  that,  practically,  the  contest  in  every 
age  of  conflict  ranges  usually  round  the  person  of  one 
faithful,  God-sent  man,  whom  to  follow  loyally  is  fidelity 
to  God.  In  the  days  of  the  first  Judaizing  assault  on  the 
early  church,  that  man  was  St.  Paul.  In  the  great  Arlan 
battle,  this  man  was  Athanasius — “ Athanasius  contra 
mundum .”  In  our  days,  in  our  land,  I believe  it  is  Luther; 
and  to  deny  Luther  would  be  for  me,  who  learned  the  truth 
from  his  lips,  to  deny  Christ.  Luther,  I believe,  is  the 
man  whom  God  has  given  to  his  church  in  Germany  in  this 
age.  Luther,  therefore,  I will  follow — not  as  a perfect  ex- 
ample, but  as  a God-appointed  leader.  Men  can  never  be 
neutral  in  great  religious  contests;  and  if,  because  of  the 
little  wrong  in  the  right  cause,  or  the  little  evil  in  the  good 
man,  we  refuse  to  take  the  side  of  right,  we  are,  by  that 
very  act,  silently  taking  the  side  of  wrong. 

When  I came  back  to  the  convent  I found  the  storm 
gathering.  I was  asked  if  I possessed  any  of  Dr.  Luther’s 
writings.  I confessed  that  I did.  It  was  demanded  that 
they  should  be  given  up.  I said  they  could  be  taken  from 
me,  but  I would  not  willingly  give  them  up  to  destruction 


248 


THE  8GH0NB EllQ  COTTA  FAMILY . 


because  I believed  they  contained  the  truth  of  God.  Thus 
the  matter  ended  until  we  had  each  retired  to  our  cells  for 
the  night,  when  one  of  the  older  monks  came  to  me  and 
accused  me  of  secretly  spreading  Lutheran  heresy  among 
the  brethren. 

I acknowledged  I had  diligently,  but  not  secretly,  done 
all  I could  to  spread  among  the  brethren  the  truths  con- 
tained in  Dr.  Luther’s  books,  although  not  in  his  words, 
but  in  St.  Paul’s.  A warm  debate  ensued,  which  ended  in 
the  monk  angrily  leaving  the  cell,  saying  that  means  would 
be  found  to  prevent  the  further  diffusion  of  this  poison. 

The  next  day  I was  taken  into  the  prison  where  John  of 
Wesel  died;  the  heavy  bolts  were  drawn  upon  me,  and  I 
was  left  in  solitude. 

As  they  left,  the  monk  with  whom  I had  the  discussion 
of  the  previous  night  said,  “In  this  chamber,  not  forty 
years  since,  a heretic  such  as  Martin  Luther  died.” 

The  words  were  intended  to  produce  wholesome  fear: 
they  acted  as  a bracing  tonic.  The  spirit  of  the  conqueror 
who  had  seemed  to  be  defeated  there,  but  now  stood  with 
the  victorious  palm  before  the  Lamb,  seemed  near  me. 
The  Spirit  of  the  truth  for  which  he  suffered  was  with  me; 
and  in  the  solitude  of  that  prison  I learned  lessons  years 
might  not  have  taught  me  elsewhere. 

No  one  except  those  who  have  borne  them  know  how 
strong  are  the  fetters  which  bind  us  to  a false  faith,  learned 
at  our  mother’s  knee,  and  riveted  on  us  by  the  sacrifices 
of  years.  Perhaps  I should  never  have  been  able  to  break 
them.  For  me,  as  for  thousands  of  others,  they  were 
rudely  broken  by  hostile  hands.  But  the  blows  were  the 
accolade  which  smote  me  from  a monk  into  a knight  and 
soldier  of  my  Lord. 

Yes;  there  I learned  that  these  vows  which  have  bound 
me  for  so  many  years  are  bonds,  not  to  God,  but  to  a lying 
tyranny.  The  only  true  vows,  as  Dr.  Luther  says,  are  the 
vows  of  our  baptism — to  renounce  the  world,  the  flesh,  and 
the  devil,  as  soldiers  of  Christ.  The  only  divine  order  is 
the  common  order  of  Christianity.  All  other  orders  are 
disorder;  not  confederations  within  the  church,  but  con- 
spiracies against  it.  If,  in  an  army,  the  troops  chose  to 
abandon  the  commander’s  arrangement,  and  range  them- 
selves, by  arbitrary  rules,  in  peculiar  uniforms,  around  self- 
elected  leaders,  they  would  not  be  soldiers — they  would  be 
mutineers. 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


249 


God’s  order  is,  I think,  the  state  to  embrace  all  men,  the 
church  to  embrace  all  Christian  men;  and  the  kernel  of 
the  state  and  the  type  of  the  church  is  the  family. 

He  creates  us  to  be  infants,  children — sons,  daughters — 
husband,  wife — father,  mother.  He  says,  Obey  your  par- 
ents, love  your  wife,  reverence  your  husband,  love  your 
children. 

As  children,  let  the  Lord  at  Nazareth  be  jour  model;  as 
married,  let  the  Lord,  who  loved  the  church  better  than 
life*  be  your  type:  as  parents,  let  the  heavenly  Father  be 
your  guide.  And  if  we,  abandoning  every  holy  name  of 
family  love  he  has  sanctioned,  and  every  lowly  duty  he  has 
enjoined,  choose  to  band  ourselves  anew  into  isolated  con- 
glomerations of  men  or  women,  connected  only  by  a com- 
mon name  and  dress,  we  are  not  only  amiable  enthusiasts — 
we  are  rebels  against  the  divine  order  of  humanity. 

God,  indeed,  may  call  some  especially  to  forsake  father 
and  mother,  and  wife  and  children,  and  all  things  for  his 
dearer  love.  But  when  he  calls  to  such  destinies,  it  is  by 
the  plain  voice  of  Providence,  or  by  the  bitter  call  of  perse- 
cution; and  then  the  martyr’s  or  the  apostle’s  solitary  path 
is  as  much  the  lowly,  simple  path  of  obedience  as  the 
mother’s  or  the  child’s.  The  crown  of  the  martyr  is  con- 
secrated by  the  same  holy  oil  which  anoints  the  head  of  the 
bride,  the  mother,  or  the  child — the  consecration  of  love 
and  of  obedience.  There  is  uone  other.  All  that  is  not 
duty  is  sin;  all  that  is  not  obedience  is  disobedience;  all 
that  is  not  of  love  is  of  self;  and  self  crowned  with  thorns 
m a cloister  is  as  selfish  as  self  crowned  with  ivy  at  a revel. 

Therefore  I abandon  cowl  and  cloister  forever.  I am  no 
more  Brother  Sebastian,  of  the  order  of  the  Eremites  of  St. 
Augustine.  I am  Friedrich  Cotta,  Margaret  Cotta’s  son, 
Else  and  Thekla’s  brother  Fritz.  I am  no  more  a monk. 
I am  a Christian.  I am  no  more  a vowed  Augustinian.  I 
am  a baptized  Christian,  dedicated  to  Christ  from  the  arms 
of  my  mother,  united  to  him  by  the  faith  of  my  manhood. 
Henceforth  I will  order  my  life  by  no  routine  of  ordinances 
imposed  by  the  will  of  a dead  man  hundreds  of  years  since. 
But  day  by  day  I will  seek  to  yield  myself,  body,  soul,  and 
spirit,  to  the  living  will  of  my  almighty  loving  God,  saying  to 
him  morning  by  morning,  “Give  me  this  day  my  daily 
bread.  Appoint  to  me  this  day  my  daily  task.”  And  he 
will  never  fad  to  bear,  however  often  I may  fail  to  ask* 


250 


THE  BCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


I had  abundance  of  time  for  those  thoughts  in  my  prison ; 
for  during  the  three  weeks  I lay  there  I had,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  bread  and  water  which  were  silently  laid 
inside  the  door  every  morning,  but  two  visits.  And  these 
were  from  my  friend  the  aged  monk  who  had  first  told  me 
about  John  of  Wesel. 

The  first  time  he  came  (he  said)  to  persuade  me  to 
recant.  But  whatever  he  intended,  he  said  little  about 
recantation — much  more  about  his  own  weakness,  which 
hindered  him  from  confessing  the  same  truth. 

The  second  time  he  brought  me  a disguise,  and  told  me 
he  had  provided  the  means  for  my  escape  that  very  night. 
When,  therefore,  I heard  the  echoes  of  the  heavy  bolts  of 
the  great  doors  die  away  through  the  long  stone  corridors, 
and  listened  till  the  last  tramp  of  feet  ceased,  and  door 
after  door  of  the  various  cells  was  closed,  and  every  sound 
was  still  throughout  the  building,  I laid  aside  my  monk’s 
cowl  and  frock  and  put  on  the  burgher  dress  provided  for 
me. 

To  me  it  was  a glad  and  solemn  ceremony,  and,  alone  in 
my  prison,  I prostrated  myself  on  the  stone  floor,  and 
thanked  Him  who,  by  his  redeeming  death  and  the  eman- 
cipating word  of  his  free  Spirit,  had  made  me  a freeman, 
nay,  infinitely  better,  his  freedman. 

The  bodily  freedom  to  which  I looked  forward  was  to  me 
a light  boon  indeed  in  comparison  with  the  liberty  of  heart 
already  mine.  The  putting  on  this  common  garb  of  secular 
life  was  to  me  like  a solemn  investiture  with  the  freedom  of 
the  city  and  the  empire  of  God.  Henceforth  I was  not  to 
be  a member  of  a narrow,  separated  class,  but  of  the  com- 
mon family ; no  more  to  freeze  alone  on  a height,  but  to  tread 
the  lowly  path  of  common  duty;  to  help  my  brethren,  not 
as  men  at  a sumptuous  table  throw  crumbs  to  beggars  and 
dogs,  but  to  live  among  them — to  share  my  bread  of  life 
with  them;  no  longer  as  the  forerunner  in  the  wilderness, 
but,  like  the  Master,  in  the  streets,  and  highways,  and 
homes  of  men;  assuming  no  nobler  name  than  man  created 
in  the  image  of  God,  born  in  the  image  of  Adam;  aiming 
at  no  loftier  title  than  Christian,  redeemed  by  the  blood  of 
Christ,  and  created  anew,  to  be  conformed  to  his  glorious 
image.  Yes,  as  the  symbol  of  a freedman,  as  the  uniform 
of  a soldier,  as  the  armor  of  a sworn  knight,  at  once  free- 
man and  servant,  was  that  lowly  burgher’s  dress  to  me; 


THE  8CII0N BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


251 


and  with  a joyful  heart,  when  the  aged  monk  came  to  me 
again,  I stepped  after  him,  leaving  my  monk’s  frock  lying 
in  the  corner  of  the  cell,  like  the  husk  of  that  old  lifeless 
life. 

In  vain  did  I endeavor  to  persuade  my  liberator  to  ac- 
company me  in  my  flight.  “ The  world  would  be  a prison 
to  me,  brother,”  he  said  with  a sad  smile.  “ All  I loved  in 
it  are  dead ; and  what  would  I do  there,  with  the  body  of 
an  old  man  and  the  helpless  inexperience  of  a child?  Fear 
not  for  me,”  he  added;  “ I also  shall,  I trust,  one  day  dwell 
in  a home,  but  not  on  earthy 

And  so  we  parted,  he  returning  to  the  convent,  and  I 
taking  my  way,  by  river  and  forest,  to  this  castle  of  tho. 
noble  knight  Franz  von  Sickingen,  on  a steep  height  at  the 
angle  formed  by  the  junction  of  two  rivers. 

My  silent  weeks  of  imprisonment  had  been  weeks  of  busy 
life  in  the  world  outside.  When  I reached  this  castle  of 
Ebernburg,  I found  the  whole  of  its  inhabitants  in  a fer- 
ment aboui  the  summoning  of  Dr.  Luther  to  Worms.  His 
name,  and  my  recent  imprisonment  for  his  faith,  were  a 
sufficient  passport  to  the  hospitality  of  the  castle,  and  I was 
welcomed  most  cordially. 

It  was  a great  contrast  to  the  monotonous  routine  of  the 
convent  and  the  stillness  of  the  prison.  All  was  life  and 
stir;  eager  debates  as  to  what  it  would  be  best  to  do  for  Dr. 
Luther;  incessant  coming  and  going  of  messengers  on 
horse  and  foot  between  Ebernburg  and  Worms,  where  the 
Diet  is  already  sitting,  and  where  the  good  knight  Franz 
spends  much  of  his  time  in  attendance  on  the  emperor. 

Ulrich  von  Hutten  is  also  here,  from  time  to  time,  vehe- 
ment in  his  condemnation  of  the  fanaticism  of  monks  and 
the  lukewarmness  of  princes;  and  Dr.  Bucer,  a disciple  of 
Dr.  Luther’s,  set  free  from  the  bondage  of  Borne  by  his 
healthful  words  at  the  great  conference  of  the  Augustinians 
at  Heidelberg. 

April  30,  1521. 

The  events  of  an  age  seem  to  have  been  crowded  into 
the  last  month.  A few  days  after  I wrote  last,  it  was  de- 
cided to  send  a deputation  to  Dr.  Luther,  who  was  then 
rapidly  approaching  Worms,  entreating  him  not  to  venture 
into  the  city,  but  to  turn  aside  to  Ebernburg.  The  em- 
peror’s confessor,  Glapio,  had  persuaded  the  knight  von 


252 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Sickingen  and  the  chaplain  Bncer  that  all  might  easily  be 
arranged,  if  Dr.  Lnther  only  avoided  the  fatal  step  of 
appearing  at  the  Diet. 

A deputation  of  horsemen  was  therefore  sent  to  intercept 
the  doctor  on  his  way,  and  to  conduct  him,  if  he  would 
consent,  to  Ebernburg,  the  “refuge  and  hostlery  of  right- 
eousness,” as  it  has  been  termed. 

I accompanied  the  little  band,  of  which  Dr.  Bucer  was 
to  be  chief  spokesman.  I did  not  think  Dr.  Luther  would 
come.  Unlike  the  rest  of  the  party,  I had  known  him  not 
only  when  he  stepped  on  the  great  stage  of  the  world  as  the 
antagonist  of  falsehood,  but  as  the  simple,  straightforward, 
obscure  monk.  And  I knew  that  the  step  which  to  others 
seemed  so  great,  leading  him  from  safe  obscurity  into 
perilous  pre-eminence  before  the  eyes  of  all  Christendom, 
was  to  him  no  great  momentary  effort,  but  simply  one  little 
step  in  the  path  of  obedience  and  lowly  duty  which  he  had 
been  endeavoring  to  tread  so  many  years.  But  I feared. 
I distrusted  Glapio,  and  believed  that  all  this  earnestness 
on  the  part  of  the  papal  party  to  turn  the  doctor  aside  was 
not  for  his  sake,  but  for  their  own. 

I needed  not,  at  least,  have  distrusted  Dr.  Luther.  Bucer 
entreated  him  with  the  eloquence  of  affectionate  solicitude; 
his  faithful  friends  and  fellow-travelers,  Jonas,  Amsdorf, 
and  Schurff,  wavered,  but  Dr.  Luther  did  not  hesitate  an 
instant.  He  was  in  the  path  of  obedience.  The  next  step 
was  as  unquestionable  and  essential  as  all  the  rest,  although, 
as  he  had  once  said,  “it  led  through  flames  which  extended 
from  Worms  to  Wittenberg,  and  raged  up  to  heaven.”  He 
did  not,  however,  use  any  of  these  forcible  illustrations 
now,  natural  as  they  were  to  him.  He  simply,  said  : 

“I  continue  my  journey.  If  the  emperor’s  confessor  has 
anything  to  say  to  me,  he  can  say  it  at  Worms.  I will  go 
to  the  place  to  which  I have  been  summoned .” 

And  he  went  on,  leaving  the  friendly  deputation  to  re- 
turn baffled  to  Ebernburg. 

I did  not  leave  him.  As  we  went  on  the  way,  some  of 
those  who  had  accompanied  him  told  me  through  what  fer- 
vent greetings  and  against  what  vain  entreaties  of  tearful 
affection  he  had  pursued  his  way  thus  far;  how  many  had 
warned  him  that  he  was  going  to  the  stake,  and  had  wept 
that  they  should  see  his  face  no  more;  how  through  much 
bodily  weakness  and  suffering,  through  acclamations  and 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


253 


tears,  he  had  passed  on  simply  and  steadfastly,  blessing  lit- 
tle children  in  the  schools  he  visited,  and  telling  them  to 
search  the  Scriptures;  comforting  the  timid  and  aged, 
stirring  up  the  hearts  of  all  to  faith  and  prayer,  and  by  his 
courage  and  trust  more  than  once  turning  enemies  into 
friends. 

“Are  you  the  man  who  is  to  overturn  the  popedom?” 
said  a soldier,  accosting  him  rather  contemptuously  at  a 
halting-place;  “how  will  you  accomplish  that?” 

“I  rely  on  Almighty  God,”  he  replied,  “whose  orders 
I have.” 

And  the  soldier  replied  reverently: 

“I  serve  the  Emperor  Charles;  your  Master  is  greater 
than  mine.” 

One  more  assault  awaited  Dr.  Luther  before  he  reached 
his  destination.  It  came  through  friendly  lips.  When  he 
arrived  near  Worms,  a messenger  came  riding  rapidly 
toward  us  from  his  faithful  friend  Spalatin,  the  elector’s 
chaplain,  and  implored  him  on  no  account  to  think  of 
entering  the  city. 

The  doctor’s  old  fervor  of  expression  returned  at  such  a 
temptation  meeting  him  so  near  the  goal 

“Go  tell  your  master,”  he  said,  “that  if  there  were  at 
Worms  as  many  devils  as  there  are  tiles  on  the  roofs,  yet 
would  I go  in.” 

And  he  went  in.  A hundred  cavaliers  met  him  near  the 
gates,  and  escorted  him  within  the  city.  Two  thousand 
people  were  eagerly  waiting  him,  and  pressed  to  see  him  as 
he  passed  through  the  streets.  Not  all  friends.  Fanatical 
Spaniards  were  among  them,  who  had  torn  his  books  in 
pieces  from  the  book-stalls,  and  crossed  themselves  when 
they  looked  at  him,  as  if  he  had  been  the  devil;  baffled 
partisans  of  the  pope:  and  on  the  other  hand,  timid  Chris- 
tians who  hoped  all  from  his  courage;  men  who  had  waited 
long  for  this  deliverance,  had  received  life  from  his  words, 
and  had  kept  his  portrait  in  their  homes  and  hearts  encir- 
cled like  that  of  a canonized  saint  with  a glory.  And 
through  the  crowd  he  passed,  the  only  man,  perhaps,  in  it 
■who  did  not  see  Dr.  Luther  through  a mist  of  hatred  oi 
of  glory,  but  felt  himself  a solitary,  feeble,  helpless*  man, 
loaning  only,  yet  resting  securely,  on  the  arm  of  Almighty 
strength. 

Those  who  knew  him  best  perhaps  wondered  at  him  most 


254 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


during  those  days  which  followed.  Not  at  his  courage — 
that  we  had  expected — but  at  his  calmness  and  moderation. 
It  was  this  which  seemed  to  me  most  surely  the  seal  of  God 
on  that  fervent,  impetuous  nature,  stamping  the  work  and 
the  man  as  of  God. 

We  none  of  us  knew  how  he  would  have  answered  before 
that  august  assembly.  At  his  first  appearance  some  of  us 
feared  he  might  have  been  too  vehement.  The  Elector 
Frederic  could  not  have  been  more  moderate  and  calm. 
When  asked  whether  he  would  retract  his  books,  I think 
there  were  few  among  us  who  were  not  surprised  at  the 
noble  self-restraint  of  his  reply.  He  asked  for  time. 

“Most  gracious  emperor,  gracious  princes  and  lords,”  he 
said,  “with  regard  to  the  first  accusation,  I acknowledge 
the  books  enumerated  to  have  been  from  me.  I cannot  dis- 
own them.  As  regards  the  second,  seeing  that  it  is  a ques- 
tion of  the  faith  and  the  salvation  of  souls,  and  of  God’s 
word,  the  most  precious  treasure  in  heaven  or  earth,  I 
should  act  rashly  were'  I to  reply  hastily.  I might  affirm 
less  than  the  case  requires,  or  more  than  truth  demands, 
and  thus  offend  against  that  word  of  Christ,  4 Whosoever 
shall  deny  me  before  men,  him  will  I also  deny  before  my 
Father  who  is  in  heaven.’  Wherefore  I beseech  your  im- 
perial majesty,  with  all  submission,  to  allow  me  time  that 
I may  reply  without  doing  prejudice  to  the  word  of  God.” 

He  could  afford  to  be  thought  for  the  time  what  many  of 
his  enemies  tauntingly  declared  him,  a coward,  brave  in  the 
cell,  but  appalled  when  he  came  to  face  the  world. 

During  the  rest  of  that  day  he  was  full  of  joy;  “like  a 
child,”  said  some,  “who  knows  not  what  is  before  him;” 
“like  a veteran,”  said  others,  “who  has  prepared  every- 
thing for  the  battle;”  like  both,  I thought,  since  the 
strength  of  the  veteran  in  the  battles  of  God  is  the  strength 
of  the  child  following  his  Father’s  eye,  and  trusting  on 
his  Father’s  arm. 

A conflict  awaited  him  afterward  in  the  course  of  the 
night  which  one  of  us  witnessed,  and  which  made  him  who 
witnessed  it  feel  no  wonder  that  the  imperial  presence  had 
no  terrors  for  Luther  on  the  morrow. 

Alone  that  night  our  leader  fought  the  fight  to  which  all 
other  combats  were  but  as  a holiday  tournament.  Pros- 
trate on  the  ground,  with  sobs  and  bitter  tears,  he  prayed: 

“Almighty,  everlasting  God,  how  terrible  this  world  is! 


THE  SCH ONBER G-CO  TTA  FAMILY. 


255 


How  it  would  open  its  jaws  to  .devour  me,  and  how  weak 
is  my  trust  in  thee!  The  flesh  is  weak,  and  the  devil  is 
strong!  Oh  thou,  my  God,  help  me  against  all  the  wisdom 
of  this  world.  Do  thou  the  work.  It  is  for  thee  alone  to 
do  it;  for  the  work  is  thine,  not  mine.  I have  nothing 
to  bring  me  here.  I have  no  controversy  to  maintain,  not 
I,  with  the  great  ones  of  the  earth.  I too  would  that  my 
days  should  glide  along  happy  and  calmly.  But  the  cause 
is  thine.  It  is  righteous,  it  is  eternal.  Oh  Lord,  help 
me;  thou  that  art  faithful,  thou  that  art  unchangeable. 
It  is  not  in  any  man  I trust.  That  were  vain  indeed.  All 
that  is  in  man  gives  way;  all  that  comes  from  man  faileth. 
Oh  God,  my  God,  dost  thou  not  hear  me?  Art  thou  dead? 
No;  thou  canst  not  die.  Thou  art  but  hiding  thyself. 
Thou  hast  chosen  me  for  this  work.  I know  it.  Oh, 
then,  arise  and  work.  Be  thou  on  my  side,  for  the  sake  of 
thy  beloved  Son  Jesus  Christ,  who  is  my  defense,  my 
shield,  and  my  fortress. 

“Oh  Lord,  my  God,  where  art  thou?  Come,  come;  I 
am  ready — ready  to  forsake  life  for  thy  truth,  patient  as  a 
lamb.  For  it  is  a righteous  cause,  and  it  is  thine  own.  I 
will  not  depart  from  thee,  now  nor  through  eternity.  And 
although  the  world  should  be  full  of  demons;  although  my 
body,  which,  nevertheless,  is  the  work  of  thine  hands, 
should  be  doomed  to  bite  the  dust,  to  be  stretched  upon  the 
rack,  cut  into  pieces,  consumed  to  ashes,  the  soul  is  thine. 
Yes;  for  this  I have  the  assurance  of  thy  word.  My,soul 
is  thine.  It  will  abide  near  thee  throughout  the  endless 
ages.  Amen.  Oh  God,  help  thou  me!  Amen.” 

Ah,  how  little  those  who  follow  know  the  agony  it  costs 
to  take  the  first  step,  to  venture  on  the  perilous  ground  no 
human  soul  around  has  tried. 

Insignificant  indeed  the  terrors  of  the  empire  to  one 
who  had  seen  4he  terrors  of  the  Almighty.  Petty  indeed 
are  the  assaults  of  flesh  and  blood  to  him  who  has  withstood 
principalities  and  powers,  and  the  hosts  of  the  angel  of 
darkness. 

At  four  o’clock  the  marshal  of  the  empire  came  to  lead 
him  to  his  trial.  But  his  real  hour  of  trial  was  over,  and 
calm  and  joyful  Dr.  Luther  passed  through  the  crowded 
streets  to  the  imperial  presence. 

As  he  drew  near  the  door,  the  veteran  General  Freunds- 
berg,  touching  his  shoulder,  said ; 


256  THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 

“Little  monk,  yon  have  before  you  an  encounter  such  as 
neither  I nor  any  other  captains  have  seen  the  like  of  even 
in  our  bloodiest  campaigns.  But  if  your  cause  be  just  and 
if  you  know  it  to  be  so,  go  forward  in  the  name  of  God, 
and  fear  nothing.  God  will  not  forsake  you.” 

Friendly  heart!  he  knew  not  that  our  Martin  Lather 
was  coming  from  his  battlefield,  and  was  simply  going  as 
a conqueror  to  declare  before  men  the  victory  he  had  won 
from  mightier  foes. 

And  so  at  last  he  stood,  the  monk,  the  peasant’s  son,  be- 
fore all  the  princes  of  the  empire,  the  kingliest  heart  among 
them  all,  crowned  with  a majesty  which  was  incorruptible, 
because  invisible  to  worldly  eyes;  one  against  thousands 
who  were  bent  on  his  destruction;  one  in  front  of  thou- 
sands who  leaned  on  his  fidelity;  erect  because  he  rested  on 
that  unseen  arm  above. 

The  words  he  spoke  that  day  are  ringing  through  all 
Germany.  The  closing  sentence  will  never  be  forgotten — 

“Here  I stand.  I cannot  do  otherwise.  God  help  me. 
Amen.” 

To  him  these  deeds  of  heroism  are  acts  of  simple  obedi- 
ence; every  step  inevitable,  because  every  step  is  duty.  In 
this  path  he  leans  on  God’s  help  absolutely  and  only. 

And  all  faithful  hearts  throughout  the  land  respond  to 
his  Amen. 

On  the  other  hand,  many  of  the  polished  courtiers  and 
subtle  Koman  diplomatists  saw  no  eloquence  in  his  words, 
words  which  stirred  every  true  heart  to  its  depths.  “That 
man,”  said  they,  “will  never  convince  us.”  How  should 
he?  His  arguments  were  not  in  their  language,  nor  ad- 
dressed to  them,  but  to  true  and  honest  hearts;  and  to  such 
they  spoke. 

To  men  with  whom  eloquence  means  elaborate  fancies, 
decorating  corruption  or  veiling  emptiness^vhat  could  St. 
Paul  seem  but  a “babbler?” 

All  men  of  earnest  purpose  acknowledged  their  force — 
enemies,  by  indignant  clamor  that  he  should  be  silenced ; 
friends,  by  wondering  gratitude  to  God,  who  had  stood  by 
him. 

It  was  nearly  dark  when  the  Diet  broke  up.  As  Dr. 
Luther  came  out,  escorted  by  the  imperial  officers,  a panic 
spread  through  the  crowd  collected  in  the  street,  and  from 
lip  to  lip  was  ffieard  the  cry ; 


THE  SCEOJVB ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


257 


“They  are  taking  him  to  prison.” 

“They  are  leading  me  to  my  hotel,”  said  the  calm  voice 
of  him  whom  this  day  has  made  the  great  man  of  Germany. 
And  the  tumult  subsided. 

Ebernburg,  June,  1521. 

Dr.  Luther  has  disappeared!  Not  one  that  I have  seen 
knows  at  this  moment  where  they  have  taken  him,  whether, 
he  is  in  the  hands  of  friend  or  foe,  whether  even  he  is  still 
on  earth ! 

We  ought  to  have  heard  of  his  arrival  at  Wittenberg 
many  days  since.  But  no  inquiries  can  trace  him  beyond 
the  village  of  Mora  in  the  Thuringian  Forest.  There  he 
went  from  Eisenach  on  his  way  back  to  Wittenberg,  to  visit 
his  aged  grandmother  and  some  of  his  father’s  relations, 
peasant-farmers  who  live  on  the  clearings  of  the  forest. 
In  his  grandmother’s  lowly  home  he  passed  the  night,  and 
took  leave  of  her  the  next  morning,  and  no  one  has  heard 
of  him  since. 

We  are  not  without  hope  that  he  is  in  the  hands  of 
friends;  yet  fears  will  mingle  with  these  hopes.  His 
enemies  are  so  many  and  so  bitter,  no  means  would  seem, 
to  many  of  them,  unworthy  to  rid  the  world  of  such  a 
heretic. 

While  he  yet  remained  at  Worms  the  Bomans  strenuously 
insisted  that  his  obstinacy  had  made  the  safe-conduct  in- 
valid; some  even  of  the  German  princes  urged  that  he 
should  be  seized ; and  it  was  only  by  the  urgent  remon- 
strances of  others,  who  protested  that  they  would  never 
suffer  such  a blot  on  German  honor,  that  he  was  saved. 

At  the  same  time,  the  most  insidious  efforts  were  made 
to  persuade  him  to  retract,  or  to  resign  his  safe-conduct,  in 
order  to  show  his  willingness  to  abide  by  the  issue  of  a fair 
discussion.  This  last  effort,  appealing  to  Dr.  Luther’s 
confidence  in  the  truth  for  which  he  was  ready  to  die,  had 
all  but  prevailed  with  him.  But  a knight  who  was  present 
when  it  was  made,  seeing  through  the  treachery,  fiercely 
ejected  the  priest  who  proposed  it  from  the  house. 

Yet  through  all  assaults,  insidious  or  open,  Dr.  Luther 
remained  calm  and  unmoved,  moved  by  no  threats,  ready 
to  listen  to  any  fair  proposition. 

Among  all  the  polished  courtiers  and  proud  princes  and 
prelates,  he  seemed  to  me  to  stand  like  an  ambassador  from 


258  TI1E  SGHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

an  imperial  court  among  the  petty  dignitaries  of  some 
petty  province.  His  manners  had  the  dignity  of  one  who 
has  been  accustomed  to  a higher  presence  than  any  around 
him,  giving  to  every  one  the  honor  due  to  him,  indifferent 
to  all  personal  slights,  but  inflexible  on  every  point  that 
concerned  the  honor  of  his  sovereign. 

Those  of  us  who  had  known  him  in  earlier  days  saw  in 
him  all  the  simplicity,  the  deep  earnestness,  the  childlike 
delight  in  simple  pleasures  we  had  known  in  him  of  old. 
It  was  our  old  friend  Martin  Luther,  but  it  seemed  as  if 
our  Luther  had  come  back  to  us  from  a residence  in  heaven, 
such  a peace  and  majesty  dwelt  in  all  he  said.  One 
incident  especially  struck  me.  When  the  glass  he  was 
about  to  drink  of  at  the  feast  given  by  the  archbishop  of 
Treves,  one  of  the  papal  party,  shivered  in  his  hand  as  he 
signed  the  cross  over  it,  and  his  friends  exclaimed  “poison !” 
he  (so  ready  usually  to  see  spiritual  agency  in  all  things) 
quietly  observed  that  the  “glass  had  doubtless  broken  on  ac- 
count of  its  having  been  plunged  too  soon  into  cold  water 
when  it  was  washed.” 

His  courage  was  no  effort  of  a strong  nature.  He  simply 
trusted  in  God,  and  really  was  afraid  of  nothing. 

And  now  he  is  gone. 

Whether  among  friends  or  foes,  in  a hospitable  refuge 
such  as  this,  or  in  a hopeless  secret  dungeon,  to  us  for  the 
time  at  least  he  is  dead.  No  word  of  sympathy  or  counsel 
passes  between  us.  The  voice  to  which  all  Germany  hushed 
its  breath  to  listen  is  silenced. 

Under  the  excommunication  of  the  pope,  under  the  ban 
of  the  empire,  branded  as  a heretic,  sentenced  as  a traitor, 
reviled  by  the  emperor’s  own  edict  as  “a  fool,  a blasphemer, 
a devil  clothed  in  a monk’s  cowl,”  it  is  made  treason  to 
give  him  food  or  shelter,  and  a virtue  to  deliver  him  to 
death.  And  to  all  this,  if  he  is  living,  he  can  utter  no 
word  of  reply. 

Meantime,  on  the  other  hand,  every  word  of  his  is  treas- 
ured up  and  clothed  with  the  sacred  pathos  of  the  dying 
words  of  a father.  The  noble  letter  which  he  wrote  to  the 
nobles  describing  his  appearance  before  the  Diet  is  treasured 
in  every  home. 

Yet  some  among  us  derive  not  a little  hope  from  the  last 
letter  he  wrote,  which  was  to  Lucas  Cranach,  from  Frank- 
fort. In  it  he  says: 


THE  SCHON  BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


259 


“The  Jews  may  sing  once  more  their  ‘Io!  Io !’  but  to  us 
also  the  Easter-day  will  come,  and  then  will  we  sing 
Alleuiah.  A little  while  we  must  he  silent  and  suffer. 
‘A  little  while,’  said  Christ,  ‘and  ye  shall  not  see  me;  and 
again  a little  while  and  ye  shall  see  me.’  I hope  it  may  be 
so  now.  But  the  will  of  God,  the  best  in  all  things,  be 
done  in  this  as  in  heaven  and  earth.  Amen.” 

Many  of  us  think  this  is  a dim  hint  to  those  who  love 
him  that  he  knew  what  was  before  him,  and  that  after  a 
brief  concealment  for  safety,  “till  this  tyranny  be  over 
past,”  he  will  be  among  us  once  more. 

I,  at  least,  think  so,  and  pray  that  to  him  this  time  of 
silence  may  be  a time  of  close  intercourse  with  God,  from 
which  he  may  come  forth  refreshed  and  strengthened  to 
guide  and  help  us  all. 

And  meantime,  a work,  not  without  peril,  but  full  of 
sacred  joy,  opens  before  me.  I have  been  supplied  by  the 
friends  of  Dr.  Luther’s  doctrine  with  copies  of  his  books 
and  pamphlets,  both  in  Latin  and  German,  which  I am  to 
sell  as  a hawker  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  Ger- 
many, and  in  any  other  lands  I can  penetrate. 

I am  to  start  to-morrow,  and  to  me  my  pack  and  strap 
are  burdens  more  glorious  than  the  armor  of  a prince  of  the 
empire;  my  humble  peddler’s  coat  and  staff  are  vestments 
more  sacred  than  the  robes  of  a cardinal  or  the  wands  of 
a pilgrim. 

Eor  am  I not  a pilgrim  to  fche  city  which  hath  founda- 
tions? Is  not  my  yoke  the  yoke  of  Christ?  and  am  I not 
distributing,  among  thirsty  and  enslaved  men,  the  water  of 
life  and  the  truth  which  sets  the  heart  free? 


PART  XYI. 

FKITZ’S  STORY. 

Black  Forest,  May,  1521. 

The  first  week  of  my  wandering  life  is  over.  To-day 
my  way  lay  through  the  solitary  paths  of  the  Black  Forest, 
which,  eleven  years  ago,  I trod  with  Dr.  Martin  Luther,  on 
our  pilgrimage  to  Rome.  Both  of  us  then  wore  the  monk’s 
frock  and  cowl.  Both  were  devoted  subjects  of  the  pope, 


260  THE  SGH ONB EllO-GO TTA  FAMILY . 

and  would  have  deprecated,  as  the  lowest  depth  of  degra- 
dation, his  anathema.  Yet  at  that  very  time  Martin  Lnther 
bore  in  his  heart  the  living  germ  of  all  that  is  now  agitating 
men’s  hearts  from  Pomerania  to  Spain.  He  was  already  a 
freedman  of  Christ,  and  he  knew  it.  The  holy  Scriptures 
were  already  to  him  the  one  living  fountain  of  truth. 
Believing  simply  in  Him  who  died,  the  just  for  the  unjust, 
he  had  received  the  free  pardon  of  his  sins.  Prayer  was  to 
him  the  confiding  petition  of  a forgiven  child  received  to 
the  heart  of  the  Father,  and  walking  humbly  by  his  side. 
Christ  he  knew  already  as  the  confessor  and  priest;  the 
holy  Spirit  as  the  personal  teacher  through  his  own  word. 

The  fetters  of  the  old  ceremonial  were  indeed  still  around 
him,  but  only  as  the  brown  casings  still  swathe  many  of 
the  swelling  buds  of  the  young  leaves;  while  others  this 
May  morning,  crackled  and  burst  as  I passed  along  in  the 
silence  through  the  green  forest  paths.  The  moment  of 
liberation,  to  the  passer-by,  always  seems  a great,  sudden 
effort;  but  those  who  have  watched  the  slow  swelling  of  the 
imprisoned  bud,  know  that  the  last  expansion  of  life  which 
bursts  the  scaly  cerements  is  but  one  moment  of  the  imper- 
ceptible but  incessant  growth,  of  which  even  the  apparent 
death  of  winter  was  a stage. 

Bat  it  is  good  to  live  in  the  spring-time;  and  as  I went 
on,  my  heart  sang  with  the  birds  and  the  leaf-buds,  “For 
me  also  the  cerements  of  winter  are  burst — for  me  and  for 
all  the  land !” 

And  as  I walked,  I sang  aloud  the  old  Easter  hymn 
which  Eva  used  to  love: 


Pone  luctum,  Magdalena, 

Et.  serena  lachryinas; 

Non  est  jam  sennonis  coena, 
Non  cur  fletum  exprimas; 
Causae  mille  sunt  laetandi, 
Causae  mille  exultandi, 

Alleluia  resonetl 

Suma  risum,  Magdalena, 
Frons  nitescat  lucida; 
Denigravit  omnis  poena, 

Lux  corsucat  fulgida; 
Cliristus  nondum  liberavit, 
Et  de  morte  triumphavit: 
Alleluia  resonetl 


TEE  SCEONB  ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY, . 


261 


Gaude,  plaude  Magdalena, 

Tumba  Christas  exiit; 

Tristis  est  peracta  scena, 

Victor  mortis  rediit; 

Quern  defiebis  morientem, 

Nunc  arride  resurgentem; 

Alleluia  resonet! 

Tolle  vultum,  Magdalena, 

Redivivum  obstupe; 

Vide  frons  quam  sit  amcena, 

Quinque  plagas  adspice; 

Fulgent  sicut  margaritae, 

Ornamenta  novae  vitae; 

Alleluia  resonet! 

Vive,  vive,  Magdalena! 

Tua  lux  reversa  est; 

Gaudiis  turgescit  vena. 

Mortis  vis  obstersa  est; 

Maesti  procul  sunt  dolores, 

Laeti  redeant  amores; 

Alleluia  resonet! 

Yes,  even  in  the  old  dark  times,  heart  after  heart,  in 
quiet  homes  and  secret  convent  cells,  has  doubtless  learned 
this  hidden  joy.  But  now  the  world  seems  learning  it. 
The  winter  has  its  robins,  with  their  solitary  warblings; 
but  now  the  spring  is  here,  the  songs  come  in  choruses,  and 
thank  God  I am  awake  to  listen! 

But  the  voice  which  awoke  this  music  first  in  my  heart, 
among  these  very  forests — and  since  then,  through  the 
grace  of  God,  in  countless  hearts  throughout  this  and  all 
lands — what  silence  hushes  it  now?  The  silence  of  the 
grave,  or  only  of  some  friendly  refuge?  In  either  case, 
doubtless,  it  is  not  silent  to  God. 

I had  scarcely  finished  my  hymn,  when  the  trees  became 
more  scattered  and  smaller,  as  if  they  had  been  cleared  not 
long  since;  and  I found  myself  on  the  edge  of  a valley,  on 
the  slopes  of  which  nestled  a small  village,  with  its  spire 
and  belfry  rising  among  the  wooden  cottages,  and  flocks  of 
sheep  and  goats  grazing  in  the  pastures  beside  the  little 
stream  which  watered  it. 

I lifted  up  my  heart  to  God,  that  some  hearts  in  that 
peaceful  place  might  welcome  the  message  of  eternal  peace 
through  the  books  I carried. 

As  I entered  the  village,  the  priest  came  out  of  the 
parsonage — and  courteously  saluted  me. 


262 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


I offered  to  show  him  my  wares. 

“ It  is  not  likely  there  will  be  anything  there  for  me,”  he 
said,  smiling.  “My  days  are  over  for  ballads  and  stories 
such  as  I suppose  your  merchandise  consists  of.” 

But  when  he  saw  the  name  of  Luther  on  the  title  page 
of  a volume  which  I showed  him,  his  face  changed,  and  he 
said  in  a grave  voice,  “Do  you  know  what  you  carry?” 

“I  trust  I do,”  I replied.  “I  carry  most  of  these  books 
in  my  heart  as  well  as  on  my  shoulders.” 

“But  do  you  know  the  danger?”  the  old  man  continued. 
“We  have  heard  that  Dr.  Luther  has  been  excommuni- 
cated by  the  pope,  and  laid  under  the  ban  of  the  empire; 
and  only  last  week,  a traveling  merchant,  such  as  yourself, 
told  us  that  his  body  had  been  seen,  pierced  through  with 
a hundred  wounds.” 

“ That  was  not  true  three  days  since,”  I said.  “At  least, 
his  best  friends  at  Worms  knew  nothing  of  it.” 

“Thank  God !”  he  said;  “for  in  this  village  we  owe  that 
good  man  much.  And  if,”  he  added  timidly,  “he  has  in- 
deed fallen  into  heresy,  it  would  be  well  he  had  time  to 
repent.” 

In  that  village  I sold  many  of  my  books,  and  left  others 
with  the  good  priest,  who  entertained  me  most  hospitably, 
and  sent  me  on  my  way  with  a tearful  farewell,  compounded 
of  blessings,  warnings,  and  prayers. 

Paris,  July,  1521. 

I have  crossed  the  French  frontier,  and  have  been  stay- 
ing some  days  in  this  great,  gay,  learned  city. 

In  Germany,  my  books  procured  me  more  of  welcome 
than  of  opposition.  In  some  cases,  even  where  the  local 
authorities  deemed  it  their  duty  publicly  to  protest  against 
them,  they  themselves  secretly  assisted  in  their  distribution. 
In  others,  the  eagerness  to  purchase,  and  to  glean  any  frag- 
ment of  information  about  Luther,  drew  a crowd  around 
me,  who,  after  satisfying  themselves  that  I had  no  news  to 
give  them  of  his  present  state,  lingered  as  long  as  I would 
speak,  to  listen  to  my  narrative  of  his  appearance  before  the 
emperor  at  Worms,  while  murmurs  of  enthusiastic  approval, 
and  often  sobs  and  tears,  testified  the  sympathy  of  the  peo- 
ple with  him.  In  the  towns,  many  more  copies  of  his 
“Letter  to  the  German  Nobles”  were  demanded  than  I 
could  supply. 


THE  SCHONBEllG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


263 


But  what  touched  me  most  was  to  see  the  love  and 
almost  idolatrous  reverence  which  had  gathered  around  his 
name  in  remote  districts,  among  the  oppressed  and  toiling 
peasantry. 

I remember  especially,  in  one  village,  a firie-looking  old 
peasant  farmer  taking  me  to  an  inner  room  where  hung  a 
portrait  of  Luther,  encircled  with  a glory,  with  a curtain 
before  it. 

“See!”  he  said.  “The  lord  of  that  castle”  (and  he 
pointed  to  a fortress  on  an  opposite  height)  “has  wrought 
me  and  mine  many  a wrong.  Two  of  my  sons  have  per- 
ished in  his  selfish  feuds,  and  his  huntsmen  lay  waste  my 
fields  -as  they  choose  in  the  chase;  yet,  if  I shoot  a deer,  I 
may  be  thrown  into  the  castle  dungeon,  as  mine  have  been 
before.  But  their  reign  is  nearly  over  now.  I saw  that 
man  at  Worms.  I heard  him  speak,  bold  as  a lion,  for 
the  truth,  before  emperor,  princes,  and  prelates.  God  has 
sent  us  the  deliverer;  and  the  reign  of  righteousness  will 
come  at  last,  when  every  man  shall  have  his  due.” 

“Friend,”  I said,  with  an  aching  heart,  “the  Deliverer 
came  fifteen  hundred  years  ago,  but  the  reign  of  justice  has 
not  come  to  the  world  yet.  The  Deliverer  was  crucified, 
and  his  followers  since  then  have  suffered,  not  reigned.” 
“God  is  patient,”  he  said,  “and  we  have  been  patient 
long,  God  knows;  but  I trust  the  time  is  come  at  last.” 
“But  the  redemption  Dr.  Luther  proclaims,”  I said, 
gently,  “is  liberty  from  a worse  bondage  than  that  of  the 
nobles,  and  it  is  a liberty  no  tyrant,  no  dungeon,  can  de- 
prive us  of — the  liberty  of  the  sons  of  God;”  and  he  lis- 
tened earnestly  while  I spoke  to  him  of  justification,  and 
the  suffering,  redeeming  Lord.  But  at  the  end  he  said : 
“Yes,  that  is  good  news.  But  I trust  Dr.  Luther  will 
avenge  many  a wrong  among  us  yet.  They  say  he  was  a 
peasant’s  son  like  me.” 

If  I were  Dr.  Luther,  and  knew  that  the  wistful  eyes  of 
the  oppressed  and  sorrowful  throughout  the  land  were 
turned  to  me,  I should  be  tempted  to  say : 

“ Lord,  let  me  die  before  these  oppressed  and  burdened 
hearts  learn  how  little  I can  help  them!” 

For  verily  there  is  much  evil  done  under  the  sun.  Yet 
as  truly  there  is  healing  for  every  disease,  remedy  for 
every  wrong,  and  rest  from  every  burden,  in  the  tidings 
Dr.  Luther  brings;  but  remedy  of  a different  kind,  I fear, 
from  what  too  many  fondly  expect. 


264  THE  8GH0NB  ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY. 

It  is  strange,  also,  to  see  how,  in  these  few  weeks,  the 
wildest  tales  have  sprung  up  and  spread  in  all  directions 
about  Dr.  Luther’s  disappearance.  Some  say  he  has  been 
secretly  murdered,  and  that  his  wounded  corpse  has  been 
seen;  others,  that  he  was  borne  away  bleeding  through  the 
forest  to  some  dreadful  doom ; while  others  boldly  assert 
that  he  will  reappear  at  the  head  of  a band  of  liberators, 
who  will  go  through  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land, 
redressing  every  wrong,  and  punishing  every  wrong-doer. 

Truly,  if  a few  weeks  can  throw  such  a haze  around 
facts,  what  would  a century  without  a written  record  have 
done  for  Christianity;  or  what  would  that  record  itself 
have  been  without  inspiration? 

The  country  was  in  some  parts  very  disturbed.  In 
Alsace  I came  on  a secret  meeting  of  the  peasants,  who 
have  bound  themselves  with  the  most  terrible  oaths  to  wage 
war  to  the  death  against  the  nobles. 

More  than  once  I was  stopped  by  a troop  of  horsemen 
near  a castle,  and  my  wares  searched,  to  see  if  they  belonged 
to  the  merchants  of  some  city  with  whom  the  knight  of  the 
castle  was  at  feud;  and  on  one  of  these  occasions  it  might 
have  fared  ill  with  me  if  a troop  of  Landsknechts  in  the 
service  of  the  empire  had  not  appeared  in  time  to  rescue 
me  and  my  companions. 

Yet  everywhere  the  name  of  Luther  was  of  equal  inter- 
est. The  peasants  believed  he  would  rescue  them  from  the 
tyranny  of  the  nobles;  and  many  of  the  knights  spoke  of 
him  as  the  assertor  of  German  liberties  against  a foreign 
yoke.  More  than  one  poor  parish  priest  welcomed  him  as 
the  deliverer  from  the  avarice  of  the  great  abbeys  or  the 
prelates.  Thus,  in  farmhouse  and  hut,  in  castle  and 
parsonage,  I and  my  books  found  many  a cordial  welcome. 
And  all  I could  do  was  to  sell  the  books,  and  tell  all  who 
would  listen,  that  the  yoke  Luther’s  words  were  powerful 
to  break  was  the  yoke  of  the  devil,  the  prince  of  all  oppres- 
sors, and  that  the  freedom  he  came  to  republish  was  free- 
dom from  the  tyranny  of  sin  and  self. 

My  true  welcome,  however,  the  one  which  rejoiced  my 
heart,  was  when  any  said,  as  many  did,  on  sick  beds,  in 
lowly  and  noble  homes,  and  in  monasteries: 

“ Thank  God,  these  words  are  in  our  hearts  already. 
They  have  taught  us  the  way  to  God;  they  have  brought 
us  peace  and  freedom.” 


THE  SGHONB KEG-GOTTA  FAMILY . 


265 


Or  when  others  said : 

“ I must  have  that  book.  This  one  and  that  one  that  I 
know  is  another  man  since  he  read  Dr.  Luther’s  words.” 

But  if  I was  scarcely  prepared  for  the  interest  felt  in  Dr. 
Luther  in  our  own  land,  true  German  that  he  is,  still  less 
did  I expect  that  his  fame  would  have  reached  to  Paris, 
and  even  further. 

The  night  before  I reached  this  city  I was  weary  with  a 
long  day’s  walk  in  the  dust  and  heat,  and  had  fallen  asleep 
on  a bench  in  the  garden  outside  a village  inn,  under  the 
shade  of  a trellised  vine,  leaving  my  pack  partly  open  beside 
me.  When  I awoke,  a grave  and  dignified-looking  man, 
who,  from  the  richness  of  his  dress  and  arms,  seemed  to  be 
a nobleman,  and,  from  the  cut  of  his  slashed  doublet  and 
mantle,  a Spaniard,  sat  beside  me,  deeply  engaged  in  read- 
ing one  of  my  books.  I did  not  stir  at  first,  but  watched 
him  in  silence.  The  book  he  held  was  a copy  of  Luther’s 
commentary  on  the  Galatians,  in  Latin. 

In  a few  minutes  I moved,  and  respectfully  saluted  him. 

“Is  this  book  for  sale?”  he  asked. 

I said  it  was,  and  named  the  price.  He  immediately  laid 
down  twice  the  sum,  saying,  “Give  a copy  to  some  one  who 
cannot  buy.” 

I ventured  to  ask  if  he  had  seen  it  before. 

“I  have,”  he  said.  “Several  copies  were  sent  by  a Swiss 
printer,  Frobenius,  to  Castile.  And  I saw  it  before  at 
Venice.  It  is  prohibited  in  both  Castile  and  Venice  now. 
But  I have  always  wished  to  possess  a copy,  that  I might 
judge  for  myself.  Do  you  know  Dr.  Luther?”  he  asked, 
as  he  moved  away. 

“I  have  known  and  reverenced  him  for  many  years,”  I 
said. 

“They  say  his  life  is  blameless,  do  they  not?”  he  asked. 

“Even  his  bitterest  enemies  confess  it  to  be  so,”  I 
replied. 

“He  spoke  a like  a brave  man  before  the  Diet,”  he  re- 
sumed; “gravely  and  quietly,  as  true  men  speak  who  are 
prepared  to  abide  by  their  words.  A noble  of  Castile  could 
not  have  spoken  with  more  dignity  than  that  peasant’s 
son.  The  Italian  priests  thought  otherwise;  but  the  ora- 
tory which  melts  girls  into  tears  from  pulpits  is  not  the 
eloquence  for  the  councils  of  men.  That  little  monk  had 
learned  his  oratory  in  a higher  school.  If  you  ever  see  Dr, 


266 


THE  8CH0NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 


Luther  again,”  he  added,  “tell  him  that  some  Spaniards, 
even  in  the  emperor’s  court,  wished  him  well.” 

And  here  in  Paris  I find  a little  band  of  devout  and 
learned  men,  Lefevre,  Farel,  and  Bigonnet,  bishop  of 
Meaux,  actively  employed  in  translating  and  circulating 
the  writings  of  Luther  and  Melancthon.  The  truth  in 
them,  they  say,  they  had  learned  before  from  the  book  of 
God  itself,  namely,  justification  through  faith  in  a crucified 
Saviour  leading  to  a life  devoted  to  him.  But  jealous  as  the 
French  are  of  admitting  the  superiority  of  anything  for- 
eign, and  contemptuously  as  they  look  on  us  unpolished 
Germans,  the  French  priests  welcome  Luther  as  a teacher 
and  a brother,  and  are  as  eager  to  hear  all  particulars  of  his 
life  as  his  countrymen  in  every  town  and  quiet  village 
throughout  Germany. 

They  tell  me  also  that  the  king’s  own  sister,  the  beauti- 
ful and  learned  Duchess  Margaret  of  Valois,  reads  Dr. 
Luther’s  writings,  and  values  them  greatly. 

Indeed,  I sometimes  think  if  he  had  carried  out  the  in- 
tention he  formed  some  years  since,  of  leaving  Wittenberg 
for  Paris,  he  would  have  found  a noble  sjjhere  of  action 
here.  The  people  are  so  frank  in  speech,  so  quick  in  feel- 
ing and  perception;  and  their  bright,  keen  wit  cuts  so  much 
more  quickly  to  the  heart  of  a fallacy  than  our  sober,  plod- 
ding, northern  intellect. 

Basil. 

Before  I lef  t aEbernburg,  the  knight  Ulrich  von  Hutten 
had  taken  a warm  interest  in  my  expedition;  had  especially 
recommended  me  to  seek  out  Erasmus,  if  ever  I reached 
Switzerland;  and  had  himself  placed  some  copies  of  Eras- 
mus’ sermons,  “Praise  of  Folly,”  among  my  books. 

Personally  I feel  a strong  attachment  to  that  brave 
knight.  I can  never  forget  the  generous  letter  he  wrote  to 
Luther  before  his  appearance  at  the  Diet:  “The  Lord  hear 
thee  in  the  day  of  trouble:  the  name  of  the  God  of  Jacob 
defend  thee.  Oh  my  beloved  Luther,  my  revered  father, 
fear  not;  be  strong.  Fight  valiantly  for  Christ.  As  for 
me,  I also  will  fight  bravely.  Would  to  God  I might  see 
how  they  knit  their  brows.  . . . May  Christ  preserve  you.” 

Yes,  to  see  the  baffled  enemies  knit  their  brows  as  they 
did  then,  would  have  been  a triumph  to  the  impetuous  sol- 
dier, but  at  the  time  he  was  prohibited  from  approaching 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


267 


the  court.  Luther’s  courageous  and  noble  defense  filled 
him  with  enthusiastic  admiration.  He  declared  the  doctor 
to  be  a greater  soldier  than  any  of  the  knights.  When  we 
heard  of  Luther’s  disappearance  he  would  have  collected  a 
band  of  daring  spirits  like  himself,  and  scoured  the  coun- 
try in  search  of  him.  Ilutten’s  objects  were  high  and  un- 
selfish. He  had  no  mean  and  petty  ambitions.  With  sword 
and  pen  he  had  contended  against  oppression  and  hypoc- 
risy, To  him  the  Roman  court  was  detestable,  chiefly  as  a 
foreign  yoke;  the  corrupt  priesthood,  as  a -domestic  usur- 
pation. He  had  a high  ideal  of  knighthood,  and  believed 
that  his  order,  enlightened  by  learning,  and  inspired  by  a 
free  and  lofty  faith,  might  emancipate  Germany  and 
Christendom.  Personal  danger  he  despised,  and  personal 
aims. 

Yet  with  all  his  fearlessness  and  high  aspirations,  I 
scarcely  think  he  hoped  himself  to  be  the  hero  of  his  ideal 
chivalry.  The  self-control  of  the  pure  true  knight  was  too 
little  his.  In  his  visions  of  a Christendom  from  which 
falsehood  and  avarice  were  to  be  banished,  and  where 
authority  was  to  reside  in  an  order  of  ideal  knights,  Franz 
von  Sickengin,  the  brave  good  lord  of  Ebernburg,  with 
his  devout  wife  Hedwiga,  was  to  raise  the  standard,  around 
which  Ulrich  and  all  the  true  men  in  the  land  were  to  rally. 
Luther,  Erasmus,  and  Sickingen,  he  thought — the  types 
of  the  three  orders,  learning,  knighthood,  and  priesthood, 
might  regenerate  the  wrold. 

Erasmus  had  begun  the  work  with  unveiling  the  light  in 
the  sancturaries  of  learning.  Luther  had  carried  it  on  by 
diffusing  the  light  among  the  people.  The  knights  must 
complete  it  by  forcibly  scattering  the  powers  of  darkness. 
Conflict  is  Erasmus’  detestation.  It  is  Luther’s  necessity. 
It  is  Hutten’s  delight. 

I did  not,  however,  expect  much  sympathy  in  my  work 
from  Erasmus.  It  seemed  to  me  that  Hutten,  admiring 
his  clear,  luminous  genius,  attributed  to  him  the  fire  of 
his  own  warm  and  courageous  heart.  However,  I in- 
tended to  seek  him  out  at  Basil. 

Circumstances  saved  me  the  trouble. 

As  I was  entering  the  city,  with  my  pack  nearly  empty, 
hoping  to  replenish  it  from  the  presses  of  Frobenius,  an 
elderly  man,  with  a stoop  in  his  shoulders,  giving  him  the 
air  of  a student,  ambled  slowly  past  me,  clad  in  a doctor’s 


268 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


gown  and  hat,  edged  with  a broad  border  of  fnr.  The 
keen,  small  dark  eyes  surveyed  me  and  my  pack  for  a 
minute,  and  then  reining  in  his  horse  he  joined  me,  and 
said,  in  a soft  voice  and  courtly  accent,  “We  are  of  the 
same  profession,  friend.  We  manufacture,  and  you  sell. 
What  have  you  in  your  pack?” 

I took  out  three  of  my  remaining  volumes.  One  was 
Luther’s  “Commentary  on  the  Galatians;”  the  others,  his 
“Treatise  on  the  Lord’s  Prayer,”  and  his  “Letter  to  the 
German  Nobles.” 

The  rider’s  brow  darkened  slightly,  and  he  eyed  me 
suspiciously. 

“ Men  who  supply  ammunition  to  the  people  in  times  of 
insurrection  seldom  do  it  at  their  ov7n  risk,”  he  said. 
“Young  man,  you  are  on  a perilous  mission,  and  would  do 
well  to  count  the  cost.” 

“I  have  counted  the  cost,  sir,”  I said,  “and  I willingly 
brave  the  peril.” 

“Well,  well,”  he  replied,  “some  are  born  for  battle- 
fields, and  some  for  martyrdom;  others  for  neither.  Let 
each  keep  to  his  calling: 

* Nequissimam  pacem  justissimo  bello  antifero,’ 

But  ‘those  who  let  in  the  sea  on  the  marshes  little  know 
where  it  will  spread.’  ” 

This  illustration  from  the  Dutch  dikes  awakened  my 
suspicions  as  to  the  rider  who  was,  and  looking  at  the  thin, 
sensitive,  yet  satirical  lips,  the  delicate,  sharply  cut  fea- 
tures, the  pallid  complexion,  and  the  dark,  keen  eyes  I had 
seen  represented  in  so  many  portraits,  I could  not  doubt 
with  whom  I was  speaking.  But  I did  not  betray  my 
discovery. 

“ Dr.  Luther  has  written  some  good  things,  nevertheless,” 
he  said.  “ If  he  had  kept  to  such  devotional  works  as  this,” 
returning  to  me  “The  Lord’s  Prayer,”  “he  might  have 
served  his  generation  quietly  and  well;  but  to  expose  such 
mysteries  as  are  treated  of  here  to  the  vulgar  gaze,  it  is 
madness!”  and  he  hastily  closed  the  “Galatians.”  Then 
glancing  at  the  “Letter  to  the  Nobles,”  he  almost  threw 
it  into  my  hand,  saying  petulantly : 

“That  pamphlet  is  an  insurrection  in  itself. 

“What  other  books  have  you?”  he  asked  after  a pause. 

I drew  out  my  last  copy  of  the  “Encomium  of  Polly,” 


THE  SCRONBEBQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


269 


“Have  you  sold  many  of  these?”  he  asked  coolly. 

“ All  but  this  copy,”  I replied. 

“And  what  did  people  say  of  it?” 

“That  depended  on  the  purchasers,”  I replied.  “Some 
say  the  author  is  the  wisest  and  wittiest  man  of  the  age, 
and  if  all  knew  where  to  stop  as  he  does,  the  world  would 
slowly  grow  into  paradise,  instead  of  being  turned  upside 
down  as  it  is  now.  Others,  on  the  contrary,  say  that  the 
writer  is  a coward,  who  has  no  courage  to  confess  the 
truth  he  knows.  And  others,  again,  declare  the  book  is 
worse  than  any  of  Luther’s,  and  that  Erasmus  is  the  source 
of  all  the  mischief  in  the  world,  since  if  he  had  not  broken 
the  lock,  Luther  would  never  have  entered  the  door.” 

“And  you  think?”  he  asked. 

“I  am  but  a poor  peddler,  sir,”  I said;  “but  I think 
there  is  a long  way  between  Pilate’s  delivering  up  the 
glorious  King  he  knew  was  innocent — perhaps  began  to  see 
might  be  divine,  and  St.  Peter’s  denying  the  Master  he 
loved.  And  the  Lord  who  forgave  Peter  knows  which  is 
which ; which  the  timid  disciple,  and  which  the  cowardly 
friend  of  his  foes.  But  the  eye  of  man,  it  seems  to  me, 
may  find  it  impossible  to  distinguish.  I would  rather  be 
Luther  at  the  Diet  of  Worms,  and  under  anathema  and 
ban,  than  either.” 

“Bold  words,”  he  said,  “to  prefer  an  excommunicated 
heretic  to  the  prince  of  the  apostles.”  But  a shade  passed 
over  his  face,  and  courteously  bidding  me  farewell,  he 
rode  on. 

The  conversation  seemed  to  have  thrown  a shadow  and 
chill  over  my  heart. 

After  a time,  however,  the  rider  slackened  his  pace 
again,  and  beckoned  to  me  to  rejoin  him. 

“Have  you  friends  in  Basil?”  he  asked  kindly. 

“None,”  I replied;  “but  I have  letters  to  the  printer 
Frobenius,  and  I was  recommended  fco  seek  out  Erasmus.” 

“Who  recommended  you  to  do  that?”  he  asked. 

“The  good  knight  Ulrich  von  Hutten,”  I replied. 

“The  prince  of  all  turbulent  spirits!”  he  murmured 
gravely.  “Little  indeed  is  there  in  common  between  Eras- 
mus of  Rotterdam  and  that  firebrand.” 

“ Ritter  Ulrich  has  the  greatest  admiration  for  the  genius 
of  Erasmus,”  I said,  “and  thinks  that  his  learning,  with 
the  swords  of  a few  good  knights,  and  the  preaching  of 
Luther,  might  set  Christendom  right.” 


270 


THE  SCHONBEBG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


“ Ulrich  von  Hutten  should  set  his  own  life  right  first,” 
was  the  reply.  “But  let  us  leave  speaking  of  Christendom 
and  these  great  projects,  which  are  altogether  beyond  our 
sphere.  Let  the  knights  set  chivalry  right,  and  the  cardi- 
nals the  papacy,  and  the  emperor  the  empire.  Let  the 
hawker  attend  to  his  pack,  and  Erasmus  to  his  studies. 
Perhaps  hereafter  it  will  be  found  that  his  satires  on  the 
follies  of  the  monasteries,  and  above  all  his  earlier  transla- 
tion of  the  New  Testament,  had  their  share  in  the  good 
work.  His  motto  is,  4 Kindle  the  light,  and  the  darkness 
will  disperse  of  itself.  * ” 

“ If  Erasmus,”  I said,  44  would  only  consent  to  share  in  the 
result  he  has  indeed  contributed  so  nobly  to  bring  about!” 

“Share  in  what?”  he  replied  quickly;  “in  the  excom- 
munication of  Luther?  or  in  the  wild  projects  of  Hutten? 
Have  it  supposed  that  he  approves  of  the  coarse  and  violent 
invectives  of  the  Saxon  monk,  or  the  daring  schemes  of  the 
adventurous  knight?  No;  St.  Paul  wrote  courteously,  and 
never  returned  railing  for  railing.  Erasmus  should  wait 
till  he  find  a reformer  like  the  apostle  ere  he  join  the  refor- 
mation. But,  friend,”  he  added,  “I  do  not  deny  that 
Luther  is  a good  man,  and  means  well.  If  you  like  to 
abandon  your  perilous  pack,  and  take  to  study,  you  may 
come  to  my  house,  and  I will  help  you  as  far  as  I can  with 
money  and  counsel.  For  I know  what  it  is  to  be  poor,  and 
I think  you  ought  to  be  better  than  a hawker.  And,”  he 
added,  bringing  his  horse  to  a stand,  44  if  you  hear  Erasmus 
maligned  again  as  a coward  or  a traitor,  you  may  say  that 
God  has  more  room  in  his  kingdom  than  any  men  have  in 
their  schools;  and  that  it  is  not  alway  so  easy  for  men  who 
see  things  on  many  sides  to  embrace  one.  Believe  also  that 
the  loneliness  of  those  who  see  too  much  or  dare  too  little 
to  be  partisans,  often  has  anguish  bitterer  than  the  scaffolds 
of  martyrs.  But,”  he  concluded  in  a low  voice,  as  he  left 
me,  “be  careful  never  again  to  link  the  names  of  Erasmus 
and  Hutten.  I assure  you  nothing  can  be  more  unlike. 
And  Ulrich  von  Hutten  is  a most  rash  and  dangerous 
man.” 

“I  will  be  careful  never  to  forget  Erasmus,”  I said,  bow- 
ing low,  as  I took  the  hand  he  offered.  And  the  doctor 
rode  on. 

Yes,  the  sorrows  of  the  undecided  are  doubtless  bitterer 
than  those  of  the  courageous;  bitterer  as  poison  is  bitterer 


THE  SGHONBER O-CO  TTA  FAMILY . 


271 


than  medicine,  as  an  enemy’s  wound  is  bitterer  than  a 
physician’s.  Yefc  it  is  true  that  the  clearer  the  insight  into 
difficulty  and  danger,  the  greater  need  be  the  courage  to  meet 
them.  The  path  of  the  rude, simple  man  who  sees  nothing  but 
right  on  one  side,  and  nothing  but  wrong  on  the  other  is  nec- 
essarily plainer  than  his  who,  seeing  much  evil  in  the  good 
cause,  and  some  truth  at  the  foundation  of  all  error,  chooses* 
to  suffer  for  the  right,  mixed  as  it  is,  and  to  suffer  side  by 
side  with  men  whose  manners  distress  him,  just  because  he 
believes  the  cause  is  on  the  whole  that  of  truth  and  God. 
Luther’s  school  may  not  indeed  have  room  for  Erasmus, 
nor  Erasmus’  school  for  Luther;  but  God  may  have  com- 
passion and  room  for  both.  At  Basil  I replenished  my  pack 
from  the  stores  of  Frobenius,  and  received  very  inspiriting 
tidings  from  him  of  the  spread  of  the  truth  of  the  gospel 
(especially  by  means  of  the  writings  of  Luther)  into  Italy 
and  Spain.  I did  not  apply  further  to  Erasmus. 

Near  Zurich,  July. 

My  heart  is  full  of  resurrection  hymns.  Everywhere  in 
the  world  it  seems  Easter-tide.  This  morning,  as  I left 
Zurich,  and,  climbing  one  of  the  heights  on  this  side,  looked 
down  on  the  lake,  rippled  with  silver,  through  the  ranges 
of  green  and  forest-covered  hills,  to  the  glorious  barrier  of 
far-off  mountains,  purple,  and  golden,  and  snow-crowned, 
which  encircles  Switzerland,  and  thought  of  the  many 
hearts  which,  during  these  years,  have  been  awakened  here 
to  the  liberty  of  the  sons  of  God,  the  old  chant  of  Easter 
and  spring  burst  from  my  lips: 

Plaudite  coeli, 

Rideat  aether  

Summus  et  imus  

. . . . . Gaudeat  orbis!  

. Transivit  atrae  

Turba  procellae!  

Subuit  almae  

Gloria  palmae!  

Surgite  verni,  

Surgite  flores,  

Germina  pictis  

Surgite  campisl  

Teneris  mistoe  

Yiolis  rosae;  

Candida  sparsis  

Lilia  caltbis! 


272 


THE  8G HONE  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


Currite  plenis 
Carmina  venis, 
Fundite  laetum 
Barbita  metrum; 
N am  que  ,r  e vixit 
Sicuti  dixit 
Pius  illaesus 
Funere  Jesus. 

Plaudite  montes 
Ludite  fontes, 
Resonent  valles, 
Repetant  colies! 
Io  revixit 
Sciente  dixit 
Pius  illaesus 
Funere  Jesus.* 


* Smile  praises,  ob  sky! 

Soft  breathe  them,  oh  air, 
Below  and  on  high, 

And  everywhere! 

The  black  troop  of  storms 
Has  yielded  to  calm; 

Tufted  blossoms  are  peeping, 

And  early  palm. 

Awake  ye,  oh  Spring! 

Ye  flowers,  come  forth. 

With  thousand  hues  tinting 
The  soft  green  earth! 

Ye  violets  tender, 

And  sweet  roses  bright, 

Gay  Lent-lilies  blended 
With  pure  lilies  white. 

Sweep  tides  of  rich  music 
The  new  world  along, 

And  pour  in  full  measure, 

Sweet  lyres,  your  song! 

Sing,  sing,  for  He  liveth! 

He  lives,  as  He  said; 

The  Lord  lias  arisen, 

Unharmed,  from  the  dead! 

Clap,  clap,  your  hands,  mountains! 

Ye  valleys,  resound! 

Leap,  leap  for  joy,  fountains! 

Ye  hills,  catch  the  sound! 

All  triumph;  He  liveth! 

He  lives,  as  He  said: 

The  Lord  has  arisen, 

. Unharmed,  from  the  dead! 


THE  SCIiONB ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


273 


And  when  I ceased,  the  mountain  stream  which  dashed 
over  the  rocks  beside  me,  the  whispering  grasses,  the  trem- 
bling wild  flowers,  the  rustling  forests,  the  lake  with  its 
ripples,  the  green  hills  and  solemn  snow-mountains  beyond 
— all  seemed  to  take  up  the  chorus. 

There  is  a wonderful,  invigorating  influence  about  Ulrich 
Zwingle,  with  whom  I have  spent  many  days  lately.  It 
seems  as  if  the  fresh  air  of  the  mountains  among  which  he 
passed  his  youth  were  always  around  him.  In  his  presence 
it  is  impossible  to  despond.  While  Luther  remains  im- 
movably holding  at  every  step  he  has  taken,  Zwingle  presses 
on,  and  surprises  the  enemy  asleep  in  his  strongholds. 
Luther  carries  on  the  war  like  the  Landsknechts,  our  own 
firm  and  impenetrable  infantry;  Zwingle,  like  his  own  im- 
petuous mountaineers,  sweeps  down  from  the  heights  upon 
the  foe. 

In  Switzerland  I and  my  books  have  met  with  more  sud- 
den and  violent  varieties  of  reception  than  a nywhere  else 
the  people  are  so  free  and  unrestrained.  In  some  villages, 
the  chief  men,  or  the  priest  himself,  summoned  all  the  in- 
habitants by  the  church  bell,  to  hear  all  I had  to  tell  about 
Dr.  Luther  and  his  work,  and  to  buy  his  books;  my  stay 
was  one  constant  fete;  and  the  warm-hearted  peasants 
accompanied  me  miles  on  my  way,  discoursing  of  Zwingle 
and  Luther,  the  broken  yoke  of  Rome,  and  the  glorious 
days  of  freedom  that  were  coming.  The  names  of  Luther 
and  Zwingle  were  on  every  lip,  like  those  of  Tell  and 
Winkelried  and  the  heroes  of  the  old  struggle  of  Swiss 
liberation. 

In  other  villages,  on  the  contrary,  the  peasants  gathered 
angrily  around  me,  reviled  me  as  a spy  and  an  intruding 
foreigner,  and  drove  me  with  stones  and  rough  jests  from 
among  them,  threatening  that  I should  not  escape  so  easily 
another  time. 

In  some  places  they  have  advanced  much  further  than 
among  us  in  Germany.  The  images  have  been  removed 
from  the  churches,  and  the  service  is  read  in  the  language 
of  the  people. 

But  the  great  joy  is  to  see  that  the  light  has  not  been 
spread  only  from  torch  to  torch,  as  human  illuminations 
spread,  but  has  burst  at  once  on  Germany,  France,  and 
Switzerland,  as  heavenly  light  dawns  from  above.  It  is 
this  which  makes  it  not  a lurid  illumination  merely,  but 


274 


THE  SC  HO  NB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


morning  and  spring.  Lefevre  in  France  and  Zwingle  in 
Switzerland  both  passed  through  their  period  of  storms  and 
darkness,  and  both,  awakened  by  the  heavenly  light  to  the 
new  world,  found  that  it  was  no  solitude — that  others  were 
also  awake,  and  that  the  day’s  work  had  begun,  as  it  should, 
with  matin  songs. 

Now  I am  tending  northward  once  more.  I intend  to 
renew  my  stores  at  my  father’s  press  at  Wittenberg.  My 
heart  yearns  also  for  news  of  all  dear  to  me  there.  Per- 
haps, too,  I may  yet  see  Dr.  Luther,  and  find  scope  for 
preaching  the  evangelical  doctrine  among  my  own  people. 

For  better  reports  have  come  to  us  from  Germany,  and 
we  believe  Dr.  Luther  is  in  friendly  keeping,  though  where 
is  still  a mystery. 

The  Pkison  of  a Dominican  Convent, 
Fhanconia,  August. 

All  is  changed  for  me.  Once  more  prison  walls  are 
around  me,  and  through  prison  bars  I look  out  on  the 
world  I may  not  re-enter.  I counted  this  among  the  costs 
when  I resolved  to  give  myself  to  spreading  far  and  wide 
the  glad  tidings  of  redemption.  It  was  worth  the  cost;  it 
is  worth  whatever  man  can  inflict — for  I trust  those  days 
have  not  been  spent  in  vain. 

Yesterday  evening,  as  the  day  was  sinking,  I found  my 
way  once  more  to  the  parsonage  of  Priest  Ruprecht  in  the 
Franconian  village.  The  door  was  open,  but  I heard  no 
voices.  There  was  a neglected  look  about  the  little  garden. 
The  vine  was  hanging  untwined  around  the  porch.  The 
little  dwelling,  which  had  been  so  neat,  had  a dreary, 
neglected  air.  Dust  lay  thick  on  the  chairs,  and  the  re- 
mains of  the  last  meal  were  left  on  the  table.  And  yet  it 
was  evidently  not  unoccupied.  A book  lay  upon  the  win- 
dow-sill, evidently  lately  read.  It  was  the  copy  of  Luther’s 
German  commentary  on  the  Lord’s  Prayer  which  I had  left 
on  that  evening  many  months  ago  in  the  porch. 

I sat  down  in  a window  seat,  and  in  a little  while  I saw 
the  priest  coming  slowly  up  the  garden.  His  form  was 
much  bent  since  I saw  him  last.  He  did  not  look  up  as  he 
approached  the  house.  It  seemed  as  if  he  expected  no  wel- 
come. But  when  I went  out  to  meet  him,  he  grasped  my 
hand  cordially,  and  his  face  brightened.  When,  however, 
he  glanced  at  the  book  in  my  hand,  a deeper  shade  passed 


TEE  8GH0NBERG-00TTA  FAMILY.  275 

/ 

over  his  brow;  and  motioning  me  to  a chair,  he  sat  clown 
opposite  me  without  speaking. 

After  a few  minutes  he  looked  up,  and  said  in  a husky 
voice,  “ That  book  did  what  all  the  denunciations  and  ter- 
rors of  the  old  doctrine  could  not  do.  It  separated  us. 
She  has  left  me.” 

He  paused  for  some  minutes,  and  then  continued:  “The 
evening  that  she  found  that  book  in  the  porch,  when  I re- 
turned I found  her  reading  it.  ‘See!’  she  said,  ‘at  last 
some  one  has  written  a religious  book  for  me!  It  was  left 
here  open,  in  the  porch,  at  these  words:  “If  thou  dost 

feel  that  in  the  sight  of  God  and  all  creatures  thou  art  a 
fool,  a sinner,  impure,  and  condemned,  ....  there  re- 
maineth  no  solace  for  thee,  and  no  salvation,  unless  in  Jesus 
Christ.  To  know  him  is  to  understand  what  the  apostle 
says — ‘Christ  hasof  God  been  made  unto  us  wisdom,  and 
righteousness,  and  sanctification,  and  redemption.’  He  is 
the  bread  of  God — our  bread,  given  to  us  as  children  of  the 
heavenly  Father.  To  believe  is  nothing  else  than  to  eat 
this  bread  from  heaven.”  And  look  again.  The  book 
says  it  touches  God’s  heart  when  we  call  him  Father,  and 
again,  “Which  art  in  heaven.”  He  that  acknowledges  he 
has  a Father  who  is  in  heaven,  owns  that  he  is  like  an 
orphan  on  the  earth.  Hence  his  heart  feels  an  ardent 
longing,  like  a child  living  away  from  its  father’s  country, 
among  strangers,  wretched  and  forlorn.  It  is  as  if  he 
said,  “Alas!  my  Father,  thou  art  in  heaven,  and,  I thy 
miserable  child,  am  on  the  earth,  far  from  thee,  amid  dan- 
ger, necessity,  and  sorrow.”  Ah,  Kuprecht,’  she  said,  her 
eyes  streaming  with  tears,  ‘that  is  so  like  what  I feel,  so 
lost,  and  orphaned,  and  far  away  from  home.’  And  then, 
fearing  she  had  grieved  me,  she  added,  ‘Not  that  I am 
neglected.  Thou  knowest  I could  never  feel  that.  But 
oh,  can  it  be  possible  that  God  would  take  me  back,  not 
after  long  years  of  penance,  but  now , and  here , to  his  very 
heart?’ 

“I  could  say  little  to  teach  her,  but  from  that  time  this 
book  was  her  constant  companion.  She  begged  me  to  find 
out  all  the  passages  in  my  Latin  Gospels  which  speak  of 
Jesus  suffering  for  sinners,  and  of  God  as  the  Father.  I 
was  amazed  to  see  how  many  there  were.  The  book  seemed 
full  of  them.  And  so  we  went  on  for  some  days,  until  one 
evening  she  came  to  me,  and  said,  ‘Ruprecht,  if  God  is  in- 


276 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


deed  so  infinitely  kind  and  good,  and  has  so  loved  us,  we 
must  obey  him,  must  we  not?’  I could  not  for  the  world 
say  no,  and  I had  not  courage  to  say  yes,  for  I knew  what 
she  meant.” 

Again  he  paused. 

“I  knew  too  well  what  she  meant,  when,  on  the  next 
morning,  I found  the  breakfast  laid,  and  everything  swept 
and  prepared  as  usual,  and  on  the  table,  in  printed  letters 
on  a scrap  of  paper,  which  she  must  have  copied  from  the 
book,  for  she  could  not  write,  ‘Farewell.  We  shall  be  able 
to  pray  for  each  other  now.  And  God  will  be  with  us,  and 
will  give  us  to  meet  hereafter,  without  fear  of  grieving  him, 
in  our  Father’s  house.’  ” 

“Do  you  know  where  she  is?”  I asked. 

“She  has  taken  service  in  a farmhouse  several  miles 
away  in  the  forest,”  he  replied.  “I  have  seen  her  once. 
She  looked  very  thin  and  worn.  But  she  did  not  see  me.” 
The  thought  which  had  so  often  suggested  itself  to  me 
before,  come  with  irresistible  force  into  my  mind  then — “If 
those  vows  of  celibacy  are  contrary  to  the  will  of  God,  can 
they  be  binding?”  But  I did  not  venture  to  suggest  them 
to  my  host.  I only  said,  “ Let  us  pray  that  God  will  lead 
you  both.  The  heart  can  bear  many  a heavy  burden  if  the 
conscience  is  free.” 

“True,”  he  said.  And  together  we  knelt  down,  while 
I spoke  to  God.  And  the  burden  of  our  prayer  was  neither 
more  nor  less  than  this,  “ Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven, 
not  my  will,  but  thine  be  done.” 

On  the  morrow  I bade  him  farewell,  leaving  him  several 
other  works  of  Luther’s.  And  I determined  not  to  lose 
an  hour  in  seeking  Melancthon  and  the  doctors  at  Witten- 
berg,  and  placing  this  case  before  them. 

And  now,  perhaps,  I shall  never  see  Wittenberg  again! 

[t  is  not  often  that  I have  ventured  into  the  monasteries 
but  to-day  a young  monk,  who  was  walking  in  the  meadows 
of  this  abbey,  seemed  so  interested  in  my  books,  that  I fol- 
lowed him  to  the  convent,  where  he  thought  I should  dis- 
pose of  many  copies.  Instead  of  this,  however,  while  I 
was  waiting  in  the  porch  for  him  to  return,  I heard  the 
sound  of  angry  voices  in  discussion  inside,  and  before  I 
could  perceive  what  it  meant,  three  or  four  monks  came  to 
me,  seized  my  pack,  bound  my  hands,  and  dragged  me  to 
the  convent  prison,  where  I now  am. 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


ZVi 


“It  is  time  that  this  pestilence  should  be  checked,”  said 
one  of  them.  “Be  thankful  if  your  fate  is  not  the  same  as 
that  of  your  poisonous  books,  which  are  this  evening  to 
make  a bonfire  in  the  court.” 

And  with  these  words  I was  left  alone  in  this  low,  damp, 
dark  cell,  with  its  one  little  slit  high  in  the  wall,  which  just 
admits  light  enough  to  show  the  iron  fetters  hanging  from 
the  walls.  But  what  power  can  make  me  a captive  while  I 
can  sing: 

Mortis  portis  fractis,  fortis  

Fortior  vin  sustulit;  

Et  per  crucem  regem  trucem,  

Infernorum  perculit.  

Lumen  cl  arum  tenebrarum  

Sedibus  resplenduit;  

Dum  salvare,  recreare  

Quod  creavit,  voluit.  

Hinc  Creator,  ne  peccator,  

Moreretur,  moritur;  

Cujus  morte,  nova  sorte,  

Vita  nobis  oritur.*  

Are  not  countless  hearts  now  singing  this  resurrection 
hymn,  to  some  of  whom  my  hands  brought  the  joyful  tid- 
ings? In  the  lonely  parsonage,  in  the  forest  and  farm, 
hearts  set  free  by  love  from  the  fetters  of  sin — in  village 
and  city,  in  mountain  and  plain! 

And  at  Wittenberg,  in  happy  homes,  and  in  the  convent, 
are  not  my  beloved  singing  it  too? 


September. 

Yet  the  time  seems  long  to  lie  in  inaction  here.  With 
these  tidings,  “The  Lord  is  risen,”  echoing  through  her 


* Lo,  the  gates  of  death  are  broken 

And  the  strong  man  armed  is  spoiled 
Of  his  armor,  which  he  trusted — 

By  the  stronger  Arm  despoiled, 
Vanquished  is  the  Prince  of  Hell; 
Smitten  by  the  cross,  he  fell. 

That  the  sinner  might  not  perish, 

For  him  the  Creator  dies; 

By  whose  death,  our  dark  lot  changing, 
Life  again  for  us  doth  rise. 


278 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


heart,  would  it  not  have  been  hard  for  the  Magdalene  to 
be  arrested  on  her  way  to  the  bereaved  disciples  before  she 
could  tell  it? 

October. 

I have  a hope  of  escape.  In  a corner  of  my  prison  I 
discovered,  some  days  since,  the  top  of  an  arch,  which  I 
believe  must  belong  to  a blocked-up  door.  By  slow  degrees 
— working  by  night,  and  covering  over  my  work  by  day — 
I have  dug  out  a flight  of  steps  which  lead  to  it.  This 
morning  1 succeeded  in  dislodging  one  of  the  stones  with 
which  the  doorway  had  been  roughly  filled  up,  and  through 
the  space  surveyed  the  ground  outside.  It  was  a portion 
of  a meadow,  sloping  to  the  stream  which  turned  the  abbey 
mills.  This  morning  two  of  the  monks  came  to  summon 
me  to  an  examination  before  the  prior,  as  to  my  heresies, 
but  to-night  I hope  to  dislodge  the  few  more  stones,  and 
this  very  night,  before  morning  dawn,,  to  be  treading  with 
free  steps  the  forest-covered  hills  beyond  the  valley. 

My  limbs  feel  feeble  with  insufficient  food,  and  the  damp, 
close  air  of  the  cell;  and  the  blood  flows  with  feverish,  un- 
certain rapidity  through  my  veins;  but,  doubtless,  a few 
hours  on  the  fresh,  breezy  hills  will  set  all  this  right. 

And  yet  once  more  I shall  see  my  mother,  and  Else,  and 
Thekla,  and  little  Gretchen,  and  all — all  but  one,  who,  I 
fear,  is  still  imprisoned  in  convent  walls.  Yet  once  more 
I trust  to  go  throughout  the  land  spreading  the  joyful  tid- 
ings, “The  Lord  is  risen  indeed;”  the  work  of  redemption 
is  accomplished,  and  he  who  once  lived  and  suffered  on 
earth,  compassionate  to  heal,  now  lives  and  reigns  in 
heaven,  mighty  to  save. 

THEKLA ’S  STORY. 

Tunnenberg,  May,  1521. 

Is  the  world  really  the  same?  Was  there  really  ever  a 
spring  like  this,  when  the  tide  of  life  seems  overflowing  and 
budding  up  in  leaf-buds,  flowers,  and  songs,  and  streams? 

It  cannot  be  only  that  God  has  given  me  the  great  bless- 
ing of  Bertrand  de  Crequi’s  love,  and  that  life  opens  in 
such  bright  fields  of  hope  and  work  before  us  two;  or  that 
this  is  the  first  spring  I ever  spent  in  the  uountry.  It 
seems  to  me  that  God  is  really  pouring  a tide  of  fresh  life 
throughout  the  world. 


THE  SCHON BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


279 


Fritz  has  escaped  from  the  prison  at  Mainz,  and  he  writes 
as  if  he  felt  this  an  Easter-tide  for  all  men.  In  all  places,  he 
says,  the  hearts  of  men  are  opening  to  the  glad  tidings  of 
the  redeeming  love  of  God. 

Can  it  be,  however,  that  every  May  is  such  a festival 
among  the  woods,  and  that  this  solemn  old  forest  holds  such 
fairy  holiday  every  year,  garlanding  its  bare  branches  and 
strewing  every  brown  nook  which  a sunbeam  can  reach, 
with  showers  of  flowers,  such  as  we  strew  on  a bride’s  path? 
And  then,  who  could  have  imagined  that  those  grave  old 
firs  and  stately  birches  could  become  the  cradles  of  all  these 
delicate-tufted  blossoms  and  tenderly-folded  leaflets,  burst- 
ing on  all  sides  from  their  gummy  casings?  And — joy  of 
all  joys!  it  is  not  unconscious  vegetable  life  only  which  thus 
expands  around  us.  It  is  God  touching  every  branch  and 
hidden  root,  and  waking  them  to  beauty.  It  is  not  sun- 
shine merely,  and  soft  breezes;  it  is  our  Father  smiling  on 
his  works,  and  making  the  world  fresh  and  fair  for  his 
children — it  is  the  healing  touch  and  the  gracious  Voice  we 
have  learned  to  know.  “We  are  in  the  world,  and  the 
world  was  made  by  Thee;”  and  “ Te  Deum  laudamus:  we 
acknowledge  thee,  oh  Saviour,  to  be  the  Lord.” 

Our  Chriemhild  certainly  has  a beautiful  home.  Ber- 
trand’s home,  also,  is  a castle  in  the  country,  in  Flanders. 
But  he  says  their  country  is  not  like  this  forest-land.  It  has 
long  been  cleared  by  industrious  hands.  There  are  long, 
stately  avenues  leading  to  his  father’s  chateau;  but  all 
around,  the  land  is  level  and  waving  with  grass  and  green 
or  golden  corn-fields.  That,  also,  must  be  beautiful.  But 
probably  the  home  he  has  gone  to  prepare  for  me  may  not 
be  there.  Some  of  his  family  are  very  bitter  against  what 
they  call  his  Lutheran  herssy,  and  although  he  is  the  heir, 
it  is  very  possible  that  the  branch  of  the  family  which  ad- 
heres to  the  old  religion  may  wrest  the  inheritance  from 
him.  That,  we  think,  matters  little.  God  will  find  the 
right  place  for  us,  and  lead  us  to  it,  if  we  ask  him.  And 
if  it  be  in  the  town,  after  all,  the  tide  of  life  in  human 
hearts  is  nobler  than  that  in  trees  and  flowers.  In  a few 
months  we  shall  know.  Perhaps  he  may  return  here,  and 
become  a professor  at  Wittenberg,  whither  Dr.  Luther’s 
name  brought  him  a year  since  to  study. 

June,  1521. 

A rumor  has  reached  us,  that  Dr.  Luther  has  disappeared 
on  his  way  back  from  Worms. 


280 


THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


This  spring  in  the  world  as  well  as  in  the  forest,  will 
doubtless  have  its  storms.  Last  night,  the  thunder  echoed 
from  hill  to  hill,  and  the  wind  wailed  wildly  among  the 
pines.  Looking  out  of  my  narrow  window  in  the  tower  on 
the  edge  of  the  rock,  where  I sleep,  it  was  awful  to  see  the 
foaming  torrent  below  gleaming  in  the,  lightning-flashes, 
which  opened  at  sudden  glimpses  into  the  depths  of  the 
forest,  leaving  it  doubly  mysterious. 

I thought  of  Fritz’s  lonely  night,  when  he  lost  himself  in 
the  forest;  and  thanked  God  that  I had  learned  to  know 
the  thunder  as  his  voice,  and  his  voice  as  speaking  peace 
and  pardon.  Only,  at  such  times  I should  like  to  gather 
all  dear  to  me  around  me;  and  those  dearest  to  me  are  scat- 
tered far  and  wide. 

The  old  knight  Ulrich  is  rather  impetuous  and  hot- 
tempered;  and  his  sister,  Ulrich’s  aunt,  Dame  Hermen- 
trud,  is  grave  and  stately.  Fortunately,  they  both  look  on 
Chriemhild  as  a wonder  of  beauty  and  goodness;  but  I 
have  to  be  rather  careful.  Dame  Hermentrud  is  apt  to 
attribute  any  over-vehemence  of  mine  in  debate  to  the 
burgher  Cotta  blood ; and  although  they  both  listen  with 
interest  to  Ulrich  or  Chriemhild’s  version  of  Dr.  Luther’s 
doctrines,  Dame  Hermentrud  frequently  warns  me  against 
unfeminine  exaggeration  or  eagerness  in  these  matters,  and 
reminds  me  that  the  ancestors  of  the  Gersdorf  family  were 
devout  and  excellent  people  long  before  a son  was  born  to 
Hans  Luther  the  miner. 

The  state  of  the  peasants  distresses  Chriemhild  and  me 
extremely.  She  and  Ulrich  were  full  of  plans  for  their 
good  when  they  came  here  to  live;  but  she  is  at  present 
almost  exclusively  occupied  with  the  education  of  a little 
knightly  creature,  who  came  into  the  world  two  months 
since,  and  is  believed  to  concentrate  in  his  single  little  per- 
son all  the  ancestral  virtues  of  all  the  Gersdorfs,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  Schonbergs.  He  has  not,  Dame  Hermen- 
trud asserts,  the  slightest  feature  of  resemblance  to  the 
Cottas.  I cannot,  certainly,  deny  that  he  bears  unmistak- 
able traces  of  that  aristocratic  temper  and  that  lofty  taste 
for  ruling  which  at  times  distinguished  my  grandmother, 
and,  doubtless,  all  the  Gersdorfs  from  the  days  of  Adam 
downward,  or  at  least  from  the  time  of  Babel.  Beyond 
that,  I believe,  few  pedigrees  are  traced,  except  in  a general 
way  to  the  sons  of  Noah,  But  it  is  a great  honor  for  me 


THE  SC  HONE  ERG -CO  TTA  FAMILY . 


281 


to  be  connected,  even  in  the  humblest  manner,  with  such 
a distinguished  little  being.  In  time,  I am  not  without 
hopes  that  it  will  introduce  a little  reflex  nobility  even  into 
my  burgher  nature;  and  meantime  Chriemhild  and  I 
secretly  trace  remarkable  resemblances  in  her  dear  baby 
features  to  our  grandmother,  and  even  to  our  beloved,  san- 
guine, blind  father.  It  is  certainly  a great  consolation  that 
our  father  chose  our  names  from  the  poems  and  the  stars 
and  the  calendar  of  aristocratic  saints,  instead  of  from  the 
lowly  Cotta  pedigree. 

Ulrich  has  not  indeed  by  any  means  abandoned  his 
scheme  of  usefulness  among  the  peasantry  who  live  on  his 
uncle’s  estate.  But  he  finds  more  opposition  than  he  ex- 
pected. The  old  knight,  although  ready  enough  to  listen 
to  any  denunciations  of  the  self-indulgent  priests  and  lazy 
monks  (especially  those  of  the  abbey  whose  hunting-grounds 
adjoin  his  own),  is  very  averse  to  making  the  smallest 
change  in  anything.  He  says  the  boors  are  difficult  enough 
to  keep  in  order  as  it  is;  that  if  they  are  taught  to 
think  for  themselves,  there  will  be  no  safety  for  the  game, 
or  for  anything  else.  They  will  be  quoting  the  Bible  in 
all  kinds  of  wrong  senses  against  their  rightful  lords,  and 
will  perhaps  6ven  take  to  debating  the  justice  of  the  hered- 
itary feuds,  and  refuse  to  follow  their  knight’s  banner  to 
the  field. 

As  to  religion,  he  is  quite  sure  that  the  ave  and  the 
pater  are  as  much  as  will  be  expected  of  them;  while 
Dame  Hermentrud  has  most  serious  doubts  of  this  new 
plan  of  writing  books  and  reading  prayers  in  the  language 
of  the  common  people.  They  will  be  thinking  themselves 
as  wise  as  the  priests,  and  perhaps  wiser  than  their  masters. 

But  Ulrich’s  chief  disappointment  is  with  the  peasants 
themselves.  They  seem  as  little  anxious  for  improvement 
as  the  lords  are  for  them,  and  are  certainly  suspicious  to 
a most  irritating  degree  of  any  schemes  for  their  welfare 
issuing  from  the  castle.  As  to  their  children  being  taught 
to  read,  they  consider  it  an  invasion  of  their  rights,  and 
murmur  that  if  they  follow  the  nobles  in  hunt  and  foray, 
and  till  their  fields,  and  go  to  mass  on  Sunday,  the  rest  of 
their  time  is  their  own,  and  it  is  a usurpation  in  priest  or 
knight  to  demand  more. 

It  will,  I fear,  be  long  before  the  dry,  barren  crust  of 
their  dull,  hard  life  is  broken;  and  yet  the  words  of  life  are 


282  THE  SCHONBEllG-COTTA  FAMIL  Y . 

for  them  as  much  as  for  us!  And  one  great  difficulty  seems 
to  me,  that  if  they  were  taught  to  read,  there  are  so  few 
German  religious  books.  Except  a few  tracts  of  Dr. 
Luther’s,  what  is  there  that  they  could  understand?  If 
some  one  would  only  translate  the  record  of  the  words  and 
acts  of  our  Lord  and  his  apostles,  it  would  be  worth  while 
then  teaching  every  one  to  read. 

And  if  we  could  only  get  them  to  confide  in  us.  There 
must  be  thought,  and  we  know  there  is  affection  underneath 
all  this  reserve.  It  is  a heavy  heritage  for  the  long  ances- 
try of  the  Gersdorfs  to  have  bequeathed  to  this  generation, 
these  recollections  of  tyranny  and  wrong,  and  this  mutual 
distrust.  Yet  Ulrich  says  it  is  too  common  throughout 
the  land.  Many  of  the  old  privileges  of  the  nobles  were  so 
terribly  oppressive  in  hard  or  careless  hands. 

The  most  promising  field  at  present  seems  to  be  among 
the  household  retainers.  Among  these  there  is  strong 
personal  attachment;  and  the  memory  of  Ulrich’s  pious 
mother  seems  to  have  left  behind  it  that  faith  in  goodness 
which  is  one  of  the  most  precious  legacies  of  holy  lives. 

Even  the  peasants  in  the  village  speak  lovingly  of  her; 
of  the  medicines  she  used  to  distill  from  the  forest-herbs, 
and  distribute  with  her  own  hands  to  the  sick.  There  is 
a tradition  also  in  the  castle  of  a bright  maiden  called 
Beatrice,  who  used  to  visit  the  cottage  homes,  and  bring 
sunshine  whenever  she  came.  But  she  disappeared  years 
ago,  they  say ; and  the  old  family  nurse  shakes  her  head  as 
she  tells  me  how  the  Lady  Beatrice’s  heart  was  broken, 
when  she  was  separated  by  family  feuds  from  her  be- 
trothed, and  after  that  she  went  to  the  convent  at  Nimpt- 
schen,  and  had  been  dead  to  the  world  ever  since. 

Nimptschen!  that  is  the  living  grave  where  our  precious 
Eva  is  buried.  And  yet  where  she  is  I am  sure  it  can  be 
no  grave  of  death.  She  will  bring  life  and  blessings  with 
her.  I will  write  her,  especially  about  this  poor  blighted 
Beatrice. 

Altogether  the  peasants  seem  much  less  suspicious  of  the 
women  of  the  Gerdsdorf  family  than  of  the  men.  They 
will  often  listen  attentively  even  to  me.  And  when 
Ohriemhild  can  go  among  them  a little  more,  I hope  better 
days  will  dawn. 

August,  1521. 

This  morning  we  had  a strange*  encounter.  Some  days 
since  we  received  a mysterious  intimation  from  Wittenberg  ? 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY 


283 


that  Dr  Luther  is  alive  and  in  friendly  keeping,  not  far 
fiom  ns.  To-day  Ulrich  and  I were  riding  through  the 
torest  to  visit  an  outlying  farm  of  the  Gersdorfs  in  the 
direction  of  Eisenach,  when  we  heard  across  a valley  the 
huntsman’s  horn,  with  the  cry  of  the  dogs  in  full  chase. 
In  a few  moments  an  opening  among  the  trees  brought  us 
iu  sight  of  the  hunt  sweeping  toward  us  up  the  opposite 
slopes  of  the  valley.  Apart  from  the  hunt,  and  nearer  us 
at  a narrow  part  of  the  valley,  we  observed  a figure  in  the 
cap  and  plumes  of  a knight,  apparently  watching  the  chase 
as  we  were.  As  we  were  looking  at  him,  a poor  bewildered 
leveret  fled  toward  him,  and  cowered  close  to  his  feet.  He 
stooped,  and  gently  taking  it  up,  folded  it  in  the  long  sleeve 
of  his  tonic,  and  stepped  quickly  aside.  In  another  min- 
ute, however,  the  hunt  swept  up  toward  him,  and  the  dogs, 
scenting  the  leveret,  seized  on  it  in  its  refuge,  dragged  it 
down,  and  killed  it. 

This  unusual  little  incident,  this  human  being  putting 
himself  on  the  side  of  the  pursued,  instead  of  among  the 
pursuers,  excited  our  attention.  There  was  also  something 
in  the  firm  figure  and  sturdy  gait  that  perplexingly  re- 
minded us  of  some  one  we  knew.  Our  road  lay  across  the 
valley,  and  Ulrich  rode  aside  to  greet  the  strange  knight. 
In  a moment  he  returned  to  me,  and  whispered: 

“It  is  Martin  Luther!” 

We  could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  look  once  more  on  the 
kind,  honest  face,  and  riding  close  to  him  we  bowed  to  him. 

He  gave  us  a smile  of  recognition,  and  laying  his  hand  on 
Ulrich’s  saddle  said,  softly, “ The  chase  is  a mystery  of  higher 
things.  See  how,  as  these  ferocious  dogs  seized  my  poor  lev- 
eret from  its  refuge,  Satan  rages  against  souls,  and  seeks  to 
tear  from  their  hiding-places  even  those  already  saved.  But 
the  arm  which  holds  them  is  stronger  than  mine.  I have  had 
enough  of  this  kind  of  chase,”  he  added;  “sweeter  to  me 
the  chase  of  the  bears,  wolves,  boars,  and  foxes  which  lay 
waste  the  church,  than  of  these  harmless  creatures.  And 
of  such  rapacious  beasts  there  are  enough  in  the  world.” 

My  heart  was  full  of  the  poor  peasants  I had  been  seeing 
lately.  I never  could  feel  afraid  of  Dr.  Luther,  and  this 
opportunity  was  . too  precious  to  be  thrown  away.  It 
always  seemed  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  to  open 
one’s  heart  to  him.  He  understood  so  quickly  and  so 
fully.  As  he  was  wishing  us  good-by,  therefore,  I said  (1 
am  afraid,  in  that  abrupt,  blundering  way  of  mine) : 


284 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


“ Dear  Dr.  Luther,  the  poor  peasants  here  are  so  ignorant ! 
and  I have  scarcely  anything  to  read  to  them  which  they 
can  understand.  Tell  some  one,  I entreat  you,  to  translate 
the  gospels  into  German  for  them ; such  German  as  your 
‘Discourse  on  the  Magnificat,’  or  ‘The  Lord’s  Prayer,’  for 
they  all  understand  that.” 

He  smiled,  and  said,  kindly: 

“It  is  being  done,  my  child.  I am  trying  in  my  Patmos 
Tower  once  more  to  unveil  the  Revelation  to  the  common 
people;  and,  doubtless,  they  will  hear  it  gladly.  That 
book  alone  is  the  sun  from  which  all  true  teachers  draw 
their  light.  Would  that  it  were  in  the  language  of  every 
man,  held  in  every  hand,  read  by  every  eye,  listened  to  by 
every  ear,  treasured  up  in  every  heart.  And  it  will  be  yet, 
I trust.” 

He  began  to  move  away,  but  as  we  looked  reverently 
after  him  he  turned  to  us  again,  and  said,  “Remember  the 
wilderness  was  the  scene  of  the  temptation.  Pray  for  me, 
that  in  the  solitude  of  my  wilderness  I may  be  delivered 
from  the  tempter.”  And  waving  his  hand,  in  a few  min- 
utes he  was  out  of  sight. 

We  thought  it  would  be  an  intrusion  to  follow  him,  or  to 
inquire  where  he  was  concealed.  But  as  the  hunt  passed 
away,  Ulrich  recognized  one  of  the  huntsmen  as  a retainer 
of  the  Elector  Frederic  at  his  castle  of  the  Wartburg. 

And  now  when  every  night  and  morning  in  my  prayers 
I add,  as  usual,  the  name  of  Dr.  Luther  to  those  of  my 
mother  and  father  and  all  dear  to  me,  I think  of  him  pass- 
ing long  days  and  nights  alone  in  that  grim  castle,  looking 
down  on  the  dear  old  Eisenach  valley,  and  I say,  “Lord 
make  the  wilderness  to  him  the  school  for  his  ministry  to 
all  our  land.” 

For  was  not  our  Saviour  himself  led  first  into  the  wilder- 
ness, to  overcome  the  tempter  in  solitude,  before  he  came 
forth  to  teach,  and  fyeal,  and  cast  out  devils? 


October. 

Ulrich  has  seen  Dr.  Luther  again.  He  was  walking  in 
the  forest  near  the  Wartburg,  and  looked  very  ill  and  sad. 
His  heart  was  heavy  on  ^account  of  the  disorders  in  the 
church,  the  falsehood  and  bitterness  of  the  enemies  of  the 
gospel,  and  the  impetuosity  or  lukewarmness  of  too  many 
of  its  friends.  He  said  it  would  almost  have  been  better  if 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


285 


they  had  left  him  to  die  by  the  hands  of  his  enemies.  His 
blood  might  have  cried  to  God  for  deliverance.  He  was 
ready  to  yield  himself  to  them  as  an  ox  to  the  yoke.  He 
would  rather  be  burned  on  live  coals,  than  sleep  away  the 
precious  years  thus,  half  alive,  in  sloth  and  ease.  And  yet, 
from  what  Ulrich  gathered  further  from  him  of  his  daily 
life,  his  “sloth  and  ease”  would  seem  arduous  toil  to  most 
men.  He  saw  the  room  where  Dr.  Luther  lives  and  labors 
day  and  night,  writing  letters  of  consolation  to  his  friends, 
and  masterly  replies,  they  say,  to  the  assailants  of  the  truth, 
and  (better  than  all)  translating  the  Bible  from  Hebrew 
and  Greek  into  German. 

The  room  has  a large  window  commanding  many  reaches 
of  the  forest;  and  he  showed  Ulrich  the  rookery  in  the  tops 
of  the  trees  below,  whence  he  learned  lessons  in  politics 
from  the  grave  consultations  of  the  rooks  who  hold  their 
Diet  there;  he  also  spoke  to  him  of  the  various  creatures 
in  rock  and  forest  which  soothed  his  solitude,  the  birds 
singing  among  the  branches,  the  berries,  wild  flowers,  and 
the  clouds  and  stars.  But  he  alluded  also  to  fearful  con- 
flicts, visible  and  audible  appearances  of  the  Evil  One;  and 
his  health  seemed  much  shattered. 

We  fear  that  noble,  loving  heart  is  wearing  itself  out  in 
the  lonely  fortress.  He  seems  chafing  like  a war-horse  at 
the  echo  of  the  distant  battle,  or  a hunter  at  the  sound  of 
the  chase;  or,  rather,  as  a captive  general  who  sees  his  troops 
assailed  by  force  and  stratagem,  broken  and  scattered,  and 
cannot  break  his  chains  to  rally  and  to  lead  them  on. 

Yet  he  spoke  most  gratefully  of  his  hospitable  treatment 
in  the  castle;  said  he  was  living  like  a prince  or  a cardinal; 
and  deprecated  the  thought  that  the  good  cause  would  not 
prosper  without  his  presence. 

“I  cannot  be  with  them  in  death,”  he  said,  “nor  they 
with  me!  Each  must  fight  that  last  fight,  go  through  that 
passion  alone.  And  only  those  will  overcome  who  have 
learned  how  to  win  the  victory  before,  and  grounded  deep 
in  the  heart  that  word,  which  is  the  great  power  against 
sin  and  the  devil,  that  Christ  has  died  for  each  one  of  us, 
and  has  overcome  Satan  forever.” 

He  said  also  that  if  Melancthon  lived  it  mattered  little  to 
/the  church  what  happened  to  him.  The  spirit  of  Elijah 
came  in  double  power  on  Elisha. 

And  he  gave  Ulrich  two  or  three  precious  fragments  of 
his  translation  of  the  gospels,  for  me  to  read  to  the  peasants. 


286 


THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


• November. 

I have  gone  with  my  precious  bits  of  the  German  Bible 
that  is  to  be  into  many  a cottage  during  this  month — simple 
narratives  of  poor,  leprous,  and  palsied  people,  who  came 
to  the  Lord,  and  he  touched  them  and  healed  their  dis- 
eases; and  of  sinners  whom  he  forgave. 

It  is  wonderful  how  the  simple  people  seem  to  drink 
them  in;  that  is,  those  who  care  at  all  for  such  things. 
“Is  this  indeed  what  the  Lord  Christ  is  like?”  they  say; 
“ then,  surely,  we  may  speak  to  him  in  our  own  words,  and 
ask  just  what  we  want,  as  those  poor  men  and  women  did 
of  old.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  peasants,  women,  and  sick 
people  could  come  straight  to  the  Lord  himself?  Was  he 
not  always  kept  off  from  the  common  people  by  a band  of 
priests  and  saints?  Was  he  indeed  to  be  spoken  to  by  all, 
and  he  such  a great  Lord?” 

I said  that  I thought  it  was  the  necessity  of  human 
princes,  arid  not  their  glory,  to  be  obliged  to  employ 
deputies,  and  not  let  each  one  plead  his  own  case.  They 
look  greatest  afar  off,  surrounded  by  the  pomp  of  a throne, 
because  in  themselves  they  are  weak  and  sinful,  like  other 
men.  But  He  needed  no  pomp,  nor  the  dignity  of  distance, 
because  he  is  not  like  other  men,  but  sinless  and  divine, 
and  the  glory  is  in  himself,  not  in  the  things  around  him. 

Then  I had  a narrative  of  the  crucifixion  to  read;  and 
many  a tear  have  I seen  stream  over  rough  cheeks,  and 
many  a smile  beam  in  dim,  aged  eyes  as  I read  this. 

“We  seem  to  understand  it  all  at  once,”  an  old  woman 
said;  “and  yet  there  always  seems  something  more  in  it 
each  time.” 

December. 

This  morning  I had  a letter  from  Bertrand,  the  first  for 
many  weeks.  He  is  full  of  hope;  not,  indeed  of  recover- 
ing his  inheritance,  but  of  being  at  Wittenberg  again  in  a 
few  weeks. 

I suppose  my  face  looked  very  bright  when  I received  it 
and  ran  with  the  precious  letter  to  my  own  room;  for 
Dame  Hermentrud  said  much  this  evening  about  receiving 
everything  with  moderation,  and  about  the  propriety  of 
young  maidens  having  a very  still  and  collected  demeanor, 
and  about  the  uncertainty  of  all  things  below.  My 
heavenly  Father  knows  I do  not  forget  that  all  things  are 


TUE  SC IIONB ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


2s: 

uncertain;  although,  often,  I dare  not  dwell  on  it.  But 
he  has  given  me  this  good  gift — he  himself — and  I will 
thank  him  with  an  overflowing  heart  for  it. 

I cannot  understand  Dame  Hermentrud’s  religion.  She 
seems  to  think  it  prudent,  and  a duty,  to  take  everything 
God  gives  coolly,  as  if  we  did  not  care  very  much  about  it, 
lest  he  should  think  he  had  given  us  something  too  good 
for  us,  and  grudge  it  to  us,  and  take  it  away  again. 

No;  if  God  does  take  away,  he  takes  away  as  he  gave,  in 
infinite  love;  and  I would  not  for  the  world  add  darkness 
to  the  dark  days,  if  they  must  come,  by  the  bitter  regret 
that  I did  not  enjoy  the  sunshine  while  he  gave  it.  For, 
indeed,  I cannot  help  fearing  sometimes,  when  I think  of 
the  martyrs  of  old,  and  the  bitterness  of  the  enemies  of  the 
good  tidings  now.  But  then  I try  to  look  up,  and  try  to 
say,  “Safer,  oh  Father,  in  thy  hands  than  in  mine.”  And 
all  the  comfort  of  the  prayer  depends  on  how  I can  com- 
prehend and  feel  that  name,  “Father.” 


PART  XVII. 

EVA’S  STORY . 

* Cistercian  Convent,  Nimptschen, 

September,  1521. 

They  have  sent  me  several  sheets  of  Dr.  Luther’s  trans- 
lation of  the  New  Testament,  from  Uncle  Cotta’s  press  at 
Wittenberg.  Of  all  the  works  he  ever  did  for  God,  this 
seems  to  me  the  mightiest  and  the  best.  None  has  ever  so 
deeply  stirred  our  convent.  Many  of  the  sisters  positively 
refuse  to  join  in  any  invocation  of  the  saints.  They  declare 
that  it  must  be  Satan  himself  who  has  kept  this  glorious 
book  locked  up  in  a dead  language  out  of  reach  of  women 
and  children  and  the  common  people.  And  the  young 
nuns  say  it  is  so  interesting,  it  is  not  in  the  least  like  a book 
of  sermons,  or  a religious  treatise. 

“It  is  like  everyday  life,”  said  one  of  them  to  me,  “with 
what  every  one  wants  brought  into  it;  a perfect  Friend,  so 
infinitely  good,  so  near,  and  so  completely  understanding 
our  inmost  hearts.  Ah,  Sister  Eva,”  she  added,  “if  they 
could  only  hear  of  this  at  home!” 


288  THE  SC  HONE  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

October. 

To-day  wo  have  received  a copy  of  Dr.  Luther’s  thesis 
against  the  monastic  life. 

“There  is  but  one  only  spiritual  estate,”  he  writes, 
“which  is  holy  and  makes  holy,  and  that  is  Christianity, 
the  faith  which  is  the  common  right  of  all.” 

“Monastic  institutions,”  he  continues,  “to  be  of  any  use 
ought  to  be  schools,  in  which  children  may  be  brought  up 
until  they  are  adults.  But  as  it  is,  they  are  houses  in 
which  men  and  women  become  children  and  ever  continue 
childish.” 

# Too  well,  alas!  I know  the  truth  of  these  last  words; 
the  hopeless,  childish  occupation  with  trifles,  into  which 
the  majority  of  the  nuns  sink  when  the  freshness  of  youth 
and  the  bitter  conflict  of  separation  from  all  dear  to  the 
heart  has  subsided,  and  the  great  incidents  of  life  have  be- 
come the  decorating  the  church  for  a festival,  or  the  pomp 
attending  the  visit  of  an  inspector  or  bishop. 

It  is  against  this  I have  striven.  It  is  this  I dread  for 
the  young  sisters;  to  see  them  sink  into  contented  trifling 
with  religious  playthings.  And  I have  been  able  to  see  no 
way  of  escape,  unless,  indeed,  we  could  be  transferred  to 
some  city  and  devote  ourselves  to  the  care  of  the  sick  and 
poor. 

Dr.  Luther,  however,  admits  of  another  solution.  We 
hear  that  he  has  counseled  the  prior. of  the  monastery  at 
Erfurt  to  sutler  any  monks  who  wish  it  freely  to  depart. 
And  many,  we  have  been  told,  in  various  monasteries  have 
already  left,  and  returned  to  serve  God  in  the  world. 

Monks  can,  indeed,  do  this.  The  world  is  open  before 
them,  and  in  some  way  they  are  sure  to  find  occupation. 
But  with  usjt  is  different ! Torn  away  from  our  natural 
homes,  the  whole  world  around  us  is  a trackless  desert. 

Yet  how  can  I dare  to  say  this?  Since  the  whole  world 
is  the  work  of  our  heavenly  Father’s  hands,  and  may  be 
the  way  to  our  Father’s  house,  will  not  he  surely  find  a 
place  for  each  of  us  in  it,  and  a path  for  us  through  it? 

November  10. 

Nine  of  the  younger  nuns  have  come  to  the  determina- 
tion, if  possible,  to  give  up  the  conventual  life,  with  its 
round  of  superstitious  observances.  This  evening  we  held 
a consultation  in  Sister  Beatrice’s  cell.  Aunt  Agnes  joined 
ns. 


THE  SCHONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY.  289 

It  was  decided  that  each  should  write  to  her  relatives, 
simply  confessing  that  she  believed  the  monastic  vows  and 
life  to  be  contrary  to  the  holy  Scriptures,  and  praying  to  be 
received  back  into  her  family. 

Sister  Beatrice  and  Aunt  Agnes  decided  to  remain 
patiently  where  they  were. 

“My  old  home  would  be  no  more  a home  to  me  now 
than  the  convent,”  Sister  Beatrice  said.  “There  is  liberty 
for  me  to  die  here,  and  an  open  way  for  my  spirit  to  return 
to  God.” 

And  Aunt  Agnes  said: 

“ Who  knows  but  that  there  may  be  some  lowly  work 
left  for  me  to  do  here  yet!  In  the  world  I should  be  as 
helpless  as  a child,  and  why  should  I return  to  be  a burden 
on  my  kindred?” 

They  both  urged  me  to  write  to  Else  or  Aunt  Cotta  to 
receive  me.  But  I can  scarcely  think  it  my  duty.  Aunt 
Cotta  has  her  children  around  her.  Else’s  home  is  strange 
to  me.  Besides,  kind  as  every  one  has  been  to  me,  I am 
as  a stray  waif  on  the  current  of  this  world,  and  have  no 
home  in  it.  I think  God  has  enabled  me  to  cheer  and 
help  some  few  here,  and  while  Aunt  Agnes  and  Sister 
Beatrice  remain,  I cannot  bear  the  thought  of  leaving. 
At  all  events  I will  wait. 

• November  22. 

Fritz  is  in  prison  again.  For  many  weeks  they  had 
heard  nothing  from  him,  and  were  wondering  where  he 
was,  when  a letter  came  from  a priest  called  Buprecht 
Haller,  in  Franconia.  He  says  Fritz  came  to  his  house 
one  evening  in  July,  remained  the  night,  left  next  morn- 
ing with  his  pack  of  Lutheran  books,  intending  to  proceed 
direct  to  Wittenberg,  and  gave  him  the  address  of  Aunt 
Cotta  there.  But  a few  weeks  afterward  a young  monk 
met  him  near  the  Dominican  convent,  and  asked  if  he  were 
the  priest  at  whose  house  a peddler  had  spent  a night  a few 
weeks  before.  The  priest  admitted  it;  whereon  the 
young  monk  said  to  him,  in  a low,  hurried  accent: 

“ Write  to  his  friends,  if  you  know  them,  and  say  he  is  in 
the  prison  of  the  convent,  under  strong  suspicion  of  heresy. 
I am  the  young  man  to  whom  he  gave  a book  on  the 
evening  he  came.  Tell  them  I did  not  intend  to  betray 
him,  although  I led  him  into  the  net;  and  if  ever  they 


290 


THE  SGHO NB Ell Q-CO  TTA  FAMIL  Y . 


should  procure  his  escape,  and  you  see  him  again,  tell  him 
I have  kept  his  book.”  The  good  priest  says  something 
also  about  Fritz  having  been  his  salvation.  And  he  urges 
that  the  most  strenuous  exertions  should  be  made  to  liberate 
him,  and  any  powerful  friends  we  have  should  be  entreated 
to  intercede,  because  the  prior  of  the  Dominican  convent 
where  he  is  imprisoned  is  a man  of  the  severest  temper, 
and  a mighty  hater  of  heretics. 

Powerful  friends!  I know  none  whom  we  can  entreat 
but  God. 

It  was  in  July,  then,  that  he  was  captured,  two  months 
since.  I wonder  if  it  is  only  my  impatient  spirit!  but  I 
feel  as  if  I must  go  to  Aunt  Cotta.  I have  a feeling  she 
will  want  me  now. 

I think  I might  comfort  her;  for  who  can  tell  what 
two  months  in  a Dominican  prison  may  have  done  for  him? 

In  our  convent  have  we  not  a prison,  low,  dark,  and 
damp  enough  to  weigh  the  life  out  of  any  one  in  six  weeks? 
From  one  of  the  massive  low  pillars  hang  heavy  iron  fetters, 
happily  rusted  now  from  disuse;  and  in  a corner  are  a rack 
and  other  terrible  instruments,  now  thrown  aside  there,  on 
which  some  of  the  older  nuns  say  they  have  seen  stains  of 
blood. 

When  he  was  in  prison  before  at  Mainz,  I did  not  seem 
so  desponding  about  his  deliverance  as  I feel  now. 

Are  these  fears  God’s  merciful  preparations  for  some 
dreadful  tidings  about  to  reach  us?  or  are  they  the  mere 
natural  enfeebling  of  the  power  to  hope  as  one  grows  older? 

December,  1521. 

Maky  disappointments  have  fallen  on  us  during;  the  last 
fortnight.  Answer  after  answer  has  come  to  those  touching 
entreaties  of  the  nine  sisters  to  their  kindred,  in  various 
tones  of  feeling,  but  all  positively  refusing  to  receive  them 
back  to  their  homes. 

Some  of  the  relatives  use  the  bitterest  reproaches  and 
the  severest  menaces.  Others  write  tenderly  and  compas- 
sionately, but  all  agree  that  no ‘noble  family  can  possibly 
bring  on  itself  the  disgrace  of  aiding  a professed  nun  to 
break  her  vows.  Poor  children,  my  heart  aches  for  them, 
some  of  them  are  so  young,  and  were  so  confident  of  being 
welcomed  back  with  open  arms,  remembering  the  tears 
with  which  they  were  given  up. 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


291 


Now  indeed  they  are  thrown  on  God.  He  will  not  fail 
them;  but  who  can  say  through  what  thorny  paths  their 
feet  may  have  to  tread? 

It  has  also  been  discovered  here  that  some  of  them  have 
written  thus  to  their  relations,  which  renders  their  position 
far  more  difficult  and  painful. 

Many  of  the  older  nuns  are  most  indignant  at  what  they 
consider  an  act  of  the  basest  treachery  and  sacrilege.  I 
also  am  forbidden  to  have  any  more  intercourse  with  the 
suspected  sisters.  Search  has  been  made  in  every  cell,  and 
all  the  Lutheran  books  have  been  seized,  while  the  strictest 
attendance  is  required  at  all  the  services. 

February  10,  1522. 

Sister  Beatrice  is  dead,  after  a brief  illness.  The  gentle, 
patient  spirit  is  at  rest. 

It  seems  difficult  to  think  of  joy  associated  with  that 
subdued  and  timid  heart,  even  in  heaven.  I can  only 
think  of  her  as  at  rest . 

Pne  night  after  she  died  I had  a dream,  in  which  I 
seemed  to  see  her  entering  into  heaven.  Kobed  and  veiled 
in  white,  I saw  her  slowly  ascending  the  way  to  the  gates 
of  the  city.  Her  head  and  her  eyes  were  cast  on  the 
ground,  and  she  did  not  seem  to  dare  to  look  up  at  the 
pearly  gates,  even  to  see  if  they  were  open  or  closed. 
But  two  angels,  the  gentlest  spirits  in  heaven,  came  out  and 
met  her,  and  each  taking  one  of  her  hands,  led  her  silently 
inside,  like  a penitent  child.  And  as  she  entered,  the 
harps  and  songs  within  seemed  to  be  hushed  to  music  soft 
as  the  dreamy  murmur  of  a summer  noon.  Still  she  did 
not  look  up,  but  passed  through  the  golden  streets  with  her 
hands  trustingly  folded  in  the  hands  of  the  angels,  until 
she  stood  before  the  throne.  Then  from  the  throne  came 
a voice,  which  said,  “Beatrice,  it  is  I;  be  not  afraid!” 
And  when  she  heard  that  voice,  a quiet  smile  beamed 
over  her  face  like  a glory,  and  for  the  first  time  she  raised 
her  eyes;  and  sinking  at  His  feet,  murmured,  “Home!” 
And  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  that  one  word  from  the  low, 
trembling  voice  vibrated  through  every  harp  in  heaven; 
and  from  countless  voices,  ringing  as  happy  as  children’s, 
and  tender  as  a mother’s,  came  back,  in  a tide  of  love  and 
music,  the  words,  “Welcome  home.” 

This  was  only  a dream  ; but  it  is  no  dream  that  she  is 
there ! 


292 


THE  SCIIONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


She  said  little  in  her  illness.  She  did  not  suffer  much. 
The  feeble  frame  made  little  resistance  to  the  low  fevei 
which  attacked  her.  The  words  she  spoke  were  mostly 
expressions  of  thankfulness  for  little  services,  or  entreaties 
for  forgiveness  for  any  little  pain  she  fancied  she  might 
have  given. 

Aunt  Agnes  and  I chiefly  waited  on  her.  She  was  uneasy 
if  we  were  long  away  from  her.  Her  thoughts  often 
recurred  to  her  girlhood  in  the  old  castle  in  the  Thuringian 
Forest;  and  she  liked  to  hear  me  speak  of  Chriemhild  and 
Ulrich,  and  their  infant  boy.  One  evening  she  called  me 
to  her,  and  said,  “Tell  my  sister  Hermentrnd,  and  my 
brother,  I am  sure  they  all  meant  kindly  in  sending  me 
here;  and  it  has  been  a good  place  for  me,  especially  since 
you  came.  But  tell  Chriemhild  and  Ulrich,”  she  added, 
“if  they  have  daughters,  to  remember  plighted  troth  is  a 
sacred  thing,  and  let  it  not  be  lightly  severed.  Not  that 
the  sorrow  has  been  evil  for  me;  only  I would  not  have 
another  suffer.  All,  all  has  been  good  for  me,  and  I so 
unworthy  of  all.” 

Then  passing  her  thin  hands  over  my  head  as  I knelt 
beside  her,  she  said,  “Eva,  you  have  been  like  a mother, 
a sister,  a child — everything  to  me.  Go  back  to  your  old 
home  when  I am  gone.  I like  to  think  you  will  be  there.” 

Then  as  if  fearing  she  might  have  been  ungrateful  to 
Aunt  Agnes,  she  asked  for  her,  and  said,  “ I can  never  thank 
you  for  all  you  have  done  for  me.  The  blessed  Lord  will 
remember  it;  for  did  he  not  say,  ‘In  that  ye  have  done  it 
unto  the  leasts  ” 

And  in  the  night,  as  I sat  by  her  alone,  she  said,  “Eva, 
I have  dreaded  very  much  to  die.  I am  so  very  weak  in 
spirit,  and  dread  everything.  But  I think  God  must  make 
it  easier  for  the  feeble  such  as  me.  For  although  I do  not 
feel  any  stronger,  I am  not  afraid  now.  It  must  be  be- 
cause he  is  holding  me  up.” 

She  then,  asked  me  to  sing;  and  with  a faltering  voice  I 
sung,  as  well  as  I could,  the  hymn,  Astant  angelorum 
chori: 

High  the  angel-choirs  are  raising 
Heart  and  voice  in  harmony; 

The  Creator  King  still  praising, 

Whom  in  beauty  there  they  see! 

Sweetest  strains  from  soft  harps  stealing, 

Trumpets’  notes  of  triumph  pealing; 


THE  SCHONB E JIG-COTTA  FAMILY \ 


293 


Radiant  wings  and  white  robes  gleaming, 

Up  the  steps  of  glory  streaming, 

Where  the  heavenly  bells  are  ringing, 

Holy,  holy,  holy,  singing, 

To  the  mighty  Trinity! 

For  all  earthly  care  and  sighing 
In  that  city  cease  to  be! 

And  two  days  after,  in  the  gray  of  the  autumn  morning, 
she  died.  She  fell  asleep  with  the  name  of  Jesus  on 
her  lips. 

It  is  strange  how  silent  and  empty  the  convent  seems, 
only  because  that  feeble  voice  is  hushed  and  that  poor 
shadowy  form  has  passed  away ! 

February,  1522. 

Sister  Beatrice  has  been  laid  in  the  convent  churchyard 
with  solemn,  mournful  dirges  and  masses,  and  stately 
ceremonies,  which  seemed  to  me  little  in  harmony  with  her 
timid,  shrinking  nature,  or  the  peace  her  spirit  rests  in 
now. 

The  lowly  mound  in  the  churchyard,  marked  by  no 
memorial  but  a wooden  cross,  accords  better  with  her 
memory.  The  wind  will  rustle  gently  there  next  summer, 
through  the  grass;  and  this  winter  the  robin  will  warble 
quietly  in  the  old  elm  above. 

But  I shall  never  see  the  grass  clothe  that  earthly  mound. 
It  is  decided  that  I am  to  leave  the  convent  this  week. 
Aunt  Agnes  and  two  of  the  young  sisters  have  just  left  my 
cell,  and  all  is  planned. 

The  petty  persecutions  against  those  they  call  the  Luth- 
eran Sisters  increase  continually,  while  severer  and  more 
open  proceedings  are  threatened.  It  is  therefore  decided 
that  I am  to  make  my  escape  at  the  first  favorable  oppor- 
tunity, find  my  way  to  Wittenberg,  and  then  lay  the  case  of 
the  nine  nuns  before  the  Lutheran  doctors  and  endeavor  to 
provide  for  their  rescue. 

February  20,  1522. 

At  last  the  peasant’s  dress  in  which  I am  to  escape  is 
in  my  cell,  and  this  very  night,  when  all  is  quiet,  I am  to 
creep  out  of  the  window  of  Catherine  von  Bora’s  cell,  into 
the  convent  garden.  Aunt  Agnes  has  been  nervously  eager 
about  my  going  and  has  been  busy  secretly  storing  a little 


294 


THE  SC 110  N BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


basket  with  provisions.  But  to-night  when  I went  into 
her  cell  to  wish  her  good-by,  she  quite  broke  down,  and 
held  me  tight  in  her  arms,  as  if  she  could  never  let  me  go, 
while  her  lips  quivered,  and  tears  rolled  slowly  over  her 
thin,  furrowed  cheeks.  “Eva,  child,”  she  said,  “who  first 
taught  me  to  love  in  spite  of  myself,  and  then  taught  me 
that  God  is  love,  and  that  he  could  make  me,  believing  in 
Jesus,  a happy,  loving  child  again,  how  can  I part  with 
thee?” 

“You  will  join  me  again,”  I said,  “and  your  sister  who 
loves  you  so  dearly?” 

She  shook  her  head  and  smiled  through  her  tears,  as  she 
said : 

“Poor  helpless  old  woman  that  I am,  what  would  you  do 
with  me  in  the  busy  life  oufside?” 

But  her  worst  fear  was  for  me,  in  my  journey  alone  to 
Wittenberg,  which  seemed  to  her,  who  for  forty  years  had 
never  passed  the  convent  walls,  so  long  and  perilous.  Aunt 
Agnes  always  thinks  of  me  as  a young  girl,  and  imagines 
every  one  must  think  me  beautiful,  because  love  makes  me 
so  to  her.  She  is  sure  they  will  take  me  for  some  princess 
in  disguise.  She  forgets  I am  a quiet,  sober-looking 
woman  of  seven-and-twenty,  whom  no  one  will  wonder  to 
see  gravely  plodding  along  the  highway. 

But  I almost  made  her  promise  to  come  to  us  at  Witten- 
berg; and  at  last  she  reproached  herself  with  distrusting 
God,  and  said  she  ought  never  to  have  feared  that  his 
angels  would  watch  over  me. 

Once  more,  then,  the  world  opens  before  me;  but  I do 
not  hope  (and  why  should  I wish?)  that  it  should  be  more 
to  me  than  this  convent  has  been — a place  where  God  will 
be  with  me  and  give  me  some  little  loving  services  to  do 
for  him. 

But  my  heart  does  yearn  to  embrace  dear  Aunt  Cotta 
and  Else  once  more,  and  little  Thekla.  And  when  Thekla 
marries,  and  Aunt  and  Uncle  Cotta  are  left  alone,  I think 
they  may  want  me,  and  Cousin  Eva  may  grow  old  among 
Else’s  children,  and  all  the  grandchildren,  helping  one  and 
another  a little,  and  missed  a little  when  God  takes  me, 

But  chiefly  I long  to  be  near  Aunt  Cotta,  now  that 
Fritz  is  in  that  terrible  prison.  She  always  said  I com- 
forted her  more  than  any  one,  and  I think  I may  again. 


THE  SCHONB ERG-GO  TTA  FA  MIL  Y.  2 95 

else’s  story. 

October,  1521. 

Christopher  has  just  returned  from*  a journey  to 
Halle.  They  have  dared  once  more  to  establish  the  sale  of 
indulgences  there,  under  the  patronage  of  the  young  and 
self-indulgent  Archbishop  Albert  of  Mainz.  Many  of  the 
students  and  the  more  thoughtful  burghers  are  full  of 
indignation  at  seeing  the  great  red  cross  once  more  set  up, 
and  the  heavenly  pardons  hawked  through  the  streets  for 
sale.  This  would  not  have  been  attempted,  Gottfried  feels 
sure,  had  not  the  enemy  believed  that  Dr.  Luther’s 
voice  is  silenced  forever.  Letters  from  him  are,  however, 
privately  handed  about  among  us  here,  and  more  than  one 
of  us  know  that  he  is  in  safe  keeping  not  very  far  from  us. 

November. 

Gottfried  has  just  brought  me  the  letter  from  Luther 
to  the  archbishop  of  Mainz;  which  will  at  least  convince 
the  indulgence-mongers  that  they  have  roused  the  sleeping 
lion. 

He  reminds  the  archbishop-elector  that  a conflagration 
has  already  been  raised  by  the  protest  of  one  poor  insignifi- 
cant monk  against  Tetzel;  he  warns  him  that  the  God  who 
gave  strength  to  that  feeble  human  voice  because  it  spoke 
his  truth,  “is  living  still,  and  will  bring  down  the  lofty 
cedars  and  the  haughty  Pharaohs,  and  can  easily  humble 
an  elector  of  Mainz  although  there  were  four  emperors 
supporting  him.”  He  solemnly  requires  him  to  put  down 
that  avaricious  sale  of  lying  pardons  at  Mainz,  or  he  will 
speedily  publish  a denunciation  (which  he  has  already 
written)  against  “The  New  School  at  Halle.”  “For 
Luther,”  he  says  “is  not  dead  yet.” 

We  are  in  great  doubt  how  the  archbishop  will  bear  such 
a bold  remonstrance. 

November  20. 

The  remonstrance  has  done  its  work.  The  prince 
archbishop  has  written  a humble  and  apologetic  letter  to 
Dr.  Luther,  and  the  indulgences  are  once  more  ban- 
ished from  Halle. 

At  Wittenberg,  however,  Dr.  Luther’s  letters  do  not 
at  all  compensate  for  his  presence.  There  is  great  confu- 


296 


THE  SCHONB ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


don  here,  and  not  seldom  there  are  encounters  between 
the  opposite  parties  in  the  streets. 

Almost  all  the  monks  in  the  Augustinian  convent  refused 
some  weeks  since  to  celebrate  private  masses  or  to  adore 
the  host.  The  gentle  Dr.  Melancthon  and  the  other  doc- 
tors at  first  remonstrated,  but  were  at  length  themselves 
convinced,  and  appealed  to  the  elector  of  Saxony  himself 
to  abolish  these  idolatrous  ceremonies.  We  do  not  yet 
know  how  he  will  act.  No  public  alterations  have  yet  been 
made  in  the  church  services. 

But  the  great  event  which  is  agitating  Wittenberg  now 
is  the  abandonment  of  the  cloister  and  the  monastic  life  by 
thirteen  of  the  Augustinian  monks.  The  Pastor  Feld- 
kirchen  declared  against  priestly  vows,  and  married  some 
months  since.  But  he  was  only  a secular  priest;  and  the 
opinions  of  all  good  men  about  the  marriage  of  the  priests 
of  the  various  churches  have  long  been  undivided  among  us. 

Concerning  the  monks,  however,  it  is  different.  For  the 
priests  to  marry  is  merely  a change  of  state;  for  the  monks 
to  abandon  their  vows  is  the  destruction  of  their  order, 
and  of  the  monastic  life  altogether. 

Gottfried  and  I are  fully  persuaded  they  are  right;  and 
we  honor  greatly  these  men,  who,  disclaiming  maintenance 
at  other  people’s  expense,  are  content  to  place  themselves 
among  the  students  at  the  university.  More  especially, 
however,  I honor  the  older  or  less  educated  brethren,  who, 
relinquishing  the  consideration  and  idle  plenty  of  the 
cloister,  set  themselves  to  learn  some  humble  trade.  One 
of  these  has  apprenticed  himself  to  a carpenter;  and  as  we 
passed  his  bench  the  other  day,  and  watched  him  persever- 
ingly  trying  to  train  his  unaccustomed  fingers  to  handle 
the  tools,  Gottfried  took  off  his  cap  and  respectfully  saluted 
him,  saying: 

“ Yes,  that  is  right.  Christianity  must  begin  again  with 
the  carpenter’s  home  at  Nazareth.” 

In  our  family,  however,  opinions  are  divided.  Our  dear, 
anxious  mother  perplexes  herself  much  as  to  what  it  will 
all  lead  to.  It  is  true  that  Fritz’s  second  imprisonment 
has  greatly  shaken  her  faith  in  the  monks;  but  she  is  dis- 
tressed at  the  unsettling  tendencies  of  the  age.  To  her  it 
seems  all  destructive;  and  the  only  solution  she  can  imagine 
for  the  difficulties  of  the  times  is,  that  these  must  be  the 
latter  days,  and  that  when  everything  is  pulled  down,  our 


THE  SCIIONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY.  297 

Lord  himself  will  come  speedily  to  build  up  his  kingdom 
in  the  right  way. 

Deprived  of  the  cpunsel  of  Fritz  and  her  beloved  Eva, 
and  of  Dr.  Luther — in  whom  lately  she  had  grown  more  to 
confide^  although  she  always  deprecates  his  impetuosity  of 
language — she  cannot  make  up  her  mind  what  to  think 
about  anything.  She  has  an  especial  dread  of  the  vehe- 
mence of  the  Archdeacon  Carlstadt;  and  the  mild  Melanc- 
thon  is  too  much  like  herself  in  disposition  for  her  to  lean 
on  his  judgment. 

Nevertheless,  this  morning,  when  I went  to  see  them,  I 
found  her  busily  preparing  some  nourishing  soup;  which, 
when  I asked  her,  she  confessed  was  destined  for  the 
recusant  monk  who  had  become  a carpenter. 

“Poor  creatures,”  she  said  apologetically,  “they  were 
accustomed  to  live  well  in  the  cloister,  and  I should  not 
like  them  to  feel  the  difference  too  suddenly.” 

Our  grandmother  is  more  than  eighty  now.  Her  form 
is  still  erect,  although  she  seldom  moves  from  her  arm- 
chair; and  her  faculties  seem  little  dimmed,  except  that 
she  cannot  attend  to  anything  for  any  length  of  time. 
Sometimes  I think  old  age  to  her  is  more  like  the  tender 
days  of  early  spring,  than  hard  and  frosty  winter.  Thekla 
says  it  seems  as  if  this  life  were  dawning  softly  for  her  into 
a better;  or  as  if  God  were  keeping  her,  like  Moses,  with 
undimmed  eyes  and  strength  unabated,  till  she  may  have 
the  glimpse  of  the  Promised  Land,  and  see  the  deliverance 
she  has  so  long  waited  for  close  at  hand. 

With  our  children  she  is  as  great  a favorite  as  she  was 
with  us,  although  she  seems  to  have  forgotten  her  old  ways 
of  finding  fault;  either  because  she  feels  less  responsibility 
about  the  third  generation,  or  because  she  sees  all  their 
little  faults  through'  a mellowed  light.  I notice,  too,  that 
she  has  fallen  on  quite  a different  vein  of  stories  from  those 
which  used  to  rivet  us.  She  seems  to  pass  over  the  legend- 
ary lore  of  her  early  womanhood,  back  to  the  experiences 
of  her  own  stirring  youth  and  childhood.  The  mysteries 
of  our  grandfather’s  history,  which  we  vainly  sought  to 
penetrate,  are  all  opened  to  Gretchen  and  the  boys.  The 
saints  and  hermits,  whose  adventures  were  our  delight,  are 
succeeded  by  stories  of  secret  Hussite  meetings  to  read  the 
Scriptures  among  the  forests  and  mountains  of  Bohemia; 
of  wild  retreats  in  caves,  where  whole  familes  lived  for 


298 


THE  SCHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 


months  in  concealment;  of  heartrending  captures  or  mar- 
velous escapes. 

The  heroes  of  my  boys  will  be,  not  St.  Christopher  and 
St.  George,  but  Hussite  heretics!  My  dear  mother  often 
throws  in  a warning  word  to  the  boys,  that  those  were  evil 
times,  and  that  people  do  not  need  to  lead  such  wild  lives 
now.  But  the  text  makes  far  more  impression  on  the 
children  than  the  commentary. 

Our  grandmother’s  own  chief  delight  is  still  in  Dr. 
Luther’s  writings.  I have  lately  read  over  to  her  and  my 
father,  I know  not  how  many  times,  his  letter  from  the 
Wartburg  “to  the  little  band  of  Christ  at  Wittenberg,” 
with  his  commentary  accompanying  it  on  the  37th  Psalm— 
“Fret  not  thyself  because  of  evil  doers.” 

Our  dear  father  is  full  of  the  brightest  visions.  He  is 
persuaded  that  the  whole  world  is  being  rapidly  set  right, 
and  that  it  matters  little,  indeed,  that  his  inventions  could 
not  be  completed,  since  we  are  advancing  at  full  speed  into 
the  Golden  Age  of  humanity. 

Thus,  from  very  opposite  points  and  through  very  dif- 
ferent paths,  he  and  my  mother  arrive  at  the  same 
conclusion. 

We  have  heard  from  Thekla  that  Ulrich  has  visited  Dr. 
Luther  at  the  Wartburg,  where  he  is  residing.  I am  so 
glad  to  know  where  he  is.  It  is  always  so  difficult  to  me 
to  think  of  people  without  knowing  the  scen-e  around  them. 
The  figure  itself  seems  to  become  shadowy  in  the  vague, 
shadowy,  unknown  world  around  it.  It  is  this  which  adds 
to  my  distress  about  Fritz.  Now  I can  Hiink  of  Dr. 
Luther  sitting  in  that  large  room  in  which  I waited  for  the 
elector  with  my  embroidery,  so  many  years  ago — looking 
down  the  steep  over  the  folded  hills,  reaching  one  behind 
another  till  the  black  pines  and  the  green  waving  branches 
fade  into  lovely  blue  beneath  the  golden  horizon.  And  at 
sunset  I seem  to  see  how  the  shadows  creep  over  the  green 
valleys  where  we  used  to  play,  and  the  lurid  sun  lights  up 
the  red  stems  of  the  pines. 

Or  in  the  summer  noon  I see  him  sitting  with  his  books 
— great  folios,  Greek,  and  Hebrew,  and  Latin — toiling  at 
that  translation  of  the  Book  of  God,  which  is  to  be  the 
blessing  of  all  our  people;  while  the  warm  sunbeams  draw 
out  the  aromatic  scent  of  the  fir  woods,  and  the  breezes 
bring  it  in  at  the  open  window. 


THE  SCHON BERG- COTTA  FAMILY, 


299 


Or  at  early  morning  I fancy  him  standing  by  the  castle 
walls,  looking  down  on  the  towers  and  distant  roofs  of 
Eisenach,  while  the  bell  of  the  great  convent  booms  np  to 
him  the  hour;  and  he  thinks  of  the  busy  life  beginning  in 
the  streets,  where  once  he  begged  for  bread  at  Aunt 
Ursula  Cotta’s  door.  Dear  Aunt  Ursula,  I wish  she  could 
have  lived  till  now,  to  see  the  rich  harvest  an  act  of  loving 
kindness  will  sometimes  bring  forth. 

Or  at  night,  again,  when  all  sounds  are  hushed  except 
the  murmur  of  the  unseen  stream  in  the  valley  below,  and 
the  sighing  of  the  wind  through  the  forest,  and  that  great 
battle  begins  which  he  has  to  fight  so  often  with  the 
powers  of  darkness,  and  he  tries  to  pray,  and  cannot  lift" 
his  heart  to  God,  I picture  him  opening  his  casement,  and 
looking  down  on  forest,  rock,  and  meadow,  lying  dim  and 
lifeless  beneath  him,  glance  from  these  up  to  God,  and 
reassure  himself  with  the  truth  he  delights  to  utter: 

44  God  lives  still!”  feeling,  as  he  gazes,  that  night  is  only 
hiding  the  sun,  not  quenching  him,  and  watching  till  the 
gray  of  morning  slowly  steals  up  the  sky  and  down  into 
the  forest. 

Yes,  Dr.  Melancthon  has  told  us  how  he  toils  and  how 
he  suffers  at  the  Wartburg,  and  how  once  he  wrote,  64  Are 
my  friends  forgetting  to  pray  for  me,  that  the  conflict  is  so 
terrible?”  No;  Gottfried  remembers  him  always  among 
our  dearest  names  of  kith  and  kindred. 

“But,”  he  said  to-day,  44  we  must  leave  the  training  of 
our  chief  to  God.” 

Poor,  tried,  perplexed  Saint  Elizabeth!  another  royal 
heart  is  suffering  at  the  Wartburg  now,  another  saint  is 
earning  his  crown  through  the  cross  at  the  old  castle  home; 
but  not  to  be  canonized  in  the  papal  calendar ! 

December  21. 

The  chapter  of  the  Augustinian  Order  in  Thuringia  and 
Misnia  has  met  here  within  this  last  month,  to  consider 
the  question  of  the  irrevocable  nature  of  monastic  vows. 
They  have  come  to  the  decision  that  in  Christ  there  is 
neither  layman  nor  monk ; that  each  is  free  to  follow  his 
conscience. 

Christmas  Day,  1521. 

This  has  been  a great  day  with  us. 

Archdeacon  Carlstadt  announced,  some  little  time  since, 


300 


THE  SGHONBEEO-COTTA  FAMILY . 


that  he  intended,  on  the  approaching  Feast  of  the  Circum- 
cision, to  administer  the  holy  sacrament  to  the  laity  under 
the  two  species  of  bread  and  wine.  His  right  to  do  this 
having  been  disputed,  he  hastened  the  accomplishment  of 
his  purpose,  lest  it  should  be  stopped  by  any  prohibition 
from  the  court. 

To-day,  after  his  sermon  in  the  City  Church,  in  which 
he  spoke  of  the  necessity  of  replacing  the  idolatrous  sacri- 
fice of  the  mass  by  the  holy  supper,  he  went  to  the  altar, 
and,  after  pronouncing  the  consecration  of  the  elements 
in  German,  he  turned  toward  the  people,  and  said  sol- 
emnly : 

“Whosoever  feels  heavy  laden  with  the  burden  of  his 
sins,  and  hungers  and  thirsts  for  the  grace  of  God,  let  him 
come  and  receive  the  body  and  blood  of  the  Lord.” 

A brief  silence  followed  his  words,  and  then,  to  my 
amazement,  before  any  one  else  stirred,  I saw  my 
timid,  retiring  mother  slowly  moving  up  the  aisle,  leading 
my  father  by  the  hand.  Others  followed;  some  with 
reverent,  solemn  demeanor,  others  perhaps  with  a little 
haste  and  over  eagerness.  And  as  the  last  had  retired 
from  the  altar,  the  archdeacon,  pronouncing  the- general 
absolution,  added  solemnly: 

“Go,  and  sin  no  more.” 

A few  moments’  pause  succeeded,  and  then,  from  many 
voices  here  and  there,  gradually  swelling  to  a full  chorus, 
arose  the  Agnus  Dei: 

“Lamb  of  God,  who  takest  away  the  sin  of  the  world, 
have  mercy  on  us.  Give  us  peace.” 

We  spent  the  Christmas,  as  usual,  in  my  father’s  house. 
Wondering,  as  I did,  at  my  mother’s  boldness,  I did  not 
like  to  speak  to  her  on  the  subject;  but,  as  we  sat  alone 
in  the  afternoon,  while  our  dear  father,  Gottfried,  Chris- 
topher, and  the  children,  had  gone  to  see  the  skating  on 
the  Elbe,  she  said  to  me? 

“Else,  I could  not  help  going.  It  seemed  like  the  voice 
of  our  Lord  himself  saying  to  me,  ‘ Thou  art  heavy  laden 
— come!’  I never  understood  it  all  as  I do  now.  It 
seemed  as  if  I saw  the  Gospel  with  my  eyes,  saw  that  the 
redemption  is  finished,  and  that  now  the  feast  is  spread. 
I forgot  to  question  whether  I repented,  or  believed,  or 
loved  enough.  I saw  through  the  ages  the  body  broken 
and  the  blood  shed  for  me  on  Calvary ; and  now  I saw  the 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


301 


table  spread,  and  heard  the  welcome,  and  I could  not  help 
taking  your  father’s  hand  and  going  up  at  once.” 

“Yes,  dear  mother,  you  set  the  whole  congregation  the 
best  example,”  I said. 

“I!”  she  exclaimed.  “Do  you  mean  that  I went  up 
before  any  one  else?  What!  before  all  the  holy  men,  and 
doctors,  and  the  people  in  authority?  Else,  my  child, 
what  have  I done?  But  I did  not  think  of  myself,  or  of 
any  one  else.  I only  seemed  to  hear  his  voice  calling  me; 
and  what  could  I do  but  go?  And,  indeed,  I cannot  care 
now  how  it  looked.  Oh,  Else,”  she  continued,  “it  is  worth 
while  to  have  the  world  thus  agitated  to  restore  this  feast 
again  to  the  church;  worth  while,”  she  added  with  a 
trembling  voice,  “even  to  have  Fritz  in  prison  for  this. 
The  blessed  Lord  has  sacrifioed  himself  for  us,  and  we  are 
living  in  the  festival.  He  died  for  sinners.  He  spread  the 
feast  for  the  hungry  and  thirsty.  Then  those  who  feel 
their  sins  most  must  be  not  the  last  but  the  first  to  come. 
I see  it  all  now.  That  holy  sacrament  is  the  Gospel  for  me.” 

February  10,  1522. 
The  whole  town  is  in  commotion. 

Men  have  appeared  among  us  who  say  that  they  are 
directly  inspired  from  heaven;  that  study  is  quite  unneces- 
sary— indeed,  an  idolatrous  concession  to  the  flesh  and  the 
letter;  that  it  is  wasting  time  and  strength  to  translate  the 
holy  Scriptures,  since,  without  their  understanding  a word 
of  Greek  or  Hebrew,  God  has  revealed  its  meaning  to  their 
hearts. 

These  men  come  from  Zwickau.  Two  of  them  are 
cloth-weavers;  and  one  is  Miinzer,  who  was  a priest.  They 
also  declare  themselves  to  be  prophets.  Nicholas  Storck, 
a weaver,  their  leader,  has  chosen  twelve  apostles  and 
seventy-two  disciples,  in  imitation  of  our  Lord.  And  one 
of  them  exclaimed,  in  awful  tones,  to-day  in  the  streets: 
“Woe,  woe  to  the  impious  governors  of  Christendom! 
Within  less  than  seven  years  the  world  shall  be  made  deso- 
late. The  Turk  will  overrun  the  land.  No  sinner  shall 
remain  alive.  God  will  purify  the  earth  by  blood,  and  all 
the  priests  will  be  put  to  death.  The  saints  will  reign. 
The  day  of  the  Lord  is  at  hand.  Woe!  woe!” 

Opinions  are  divided  throughout  the  university  and  the 
town  about  them.  The  elector  himself  says  he  would 


302 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


rather  yield  up  his  crown  and  go  through  the  world  a beg- 
gar than  resist  the  voice  of  the  Lord.  Dr.  Melancthon 
hesitates,  and  says  we  must  try  the  spirits,  whether  they 
be  of  God.  The  Archdeacon  Carlstadt  is  much  impressed 
with  them,  and  from  his  professorial  chair  even  exhorts 
the  students  to  abandon  the  vain  pursuits  of  carnal  wisdom, 
and  to  return  to  earn  their  bread,  according  to  God’s  ordi- 
nance, in  the  sweat  of  their  brow.  The  master  of  the  boys’ 
school  called,  from  the  open  window  of  the  schoolroom, 
to  the  citizens  to  take  back  their  children.  Not  a few  of 
the  students  are  dispersing,  and  others  are  in  an  excitable 
state,  ready  for  any  tumult.  The  images  have  been  vio- 
lently torn  from  one  of  the  churches  and  burned.  The 
monks  of  the  convent  of  the  Cordeliers  have  called  the 
soldiers  to  their  aid  against  a threatened  attack. 

Gottfried  and  others  are  persuaded  that  these  men  of 
Zwickau  are  deluded  enthusiasts.  He  says,  “The  spirit 
which  undervalues  the  Word  of  God  cannot  be  the  spirit 
of  Godo” 

But  among  the  firmest  opponents  of  these  new  doctrines 
is,  to  our  surprise,  our  charitable  mother.  Her  gentle, 
lowly  spirit  seems  to  shrink  from  them  as  with  a heavenly 
instinct.  She  says  “the  Spirit  of  God  humbles — does  not 
puff  up.” 

When  it  was  reported  to  us  the  other  day  that  Nicholas 
Storck  had  seen  the  angel  Gabriel  in  the  night,  who  flew 
toward  him  and  said  to  him,  “As  for  thee,  thou  shalt  be 
seated  on  my  throne!”  the  mother  said: 

“ It  is  new  language  to  the  angel  Gabriel,  to  speak  of  his 
throne.  The  angels  in  old  times  used  to  speak  of  the 
throne  of  God.” 

And  when  another  said  that  it  was  time  to  sift  the  chaff 
from  the  wheat,  and  to  form  a church  of  none  but  saints, 
she  said : 

“ That  would  never  suit  me,  then.  I must  stay  outside 
in  the  church  of  redeemed  sinners.  And  did  not  St.  Paul 
himself  say.  as  Dr.  Luther  told  us,  ‘sinners,  of  whom  I am 
chief?”’ 

“But  are  you  not  afraid,”  some  one  asked  her,  “of  dis- 
honoring God  by  denying  his  messengers,  if,  after  all,  these 
prophets  should  be  sent  from  him?” 

“I  think  not,”  she  replied  quietly.  “Until  the  doctors 
are  sure,  I think  I cannot  displease  my  Saviour  by  keeping 
to  the  old  message.” 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


303 


My  father,  however,  is  much  excited  about  it;  he  sees 
no  reason  why  there  should  not  be  prophets  at  Wittenberg 
as  well  as  at  Jerusalem;  and  in  these  wonderful  days,  he 
argues,  what  wonders  can  be  too  great  to  believe? 

I and  many  others  long  exceedingly  for  Dr.  Luther.  I 
believe,  indeed,  Gottfried  is  right,  but  it  will  be  terrible  to 
make  a mistake;  and  Dr.  Luther  always  seems  to  see 
straight  to  the  heart  of  a thing  at  once,  and  storms  the 
citadel,  while  Dr.  Melancthon  is  going  round  and  round, 
studying  each  point  of  the  fortifications. 

Dr.  Luther  never  wavers  in  opinion  in  his  letters,  but 
warns  us  most  forcibly  againt  these  delusions  of  Satan. 
But  then  peple  say  he  has  not  seen  or  heard  the  “proph- 
ets.” One  letter  can  be  discussed  and  answered  long 
before  another  comes,  and  the  living*  eye  and  voice  are 
much  in  such  a conflict  as  this. 

What  chief  could  lead  an  army  on  to  battle  by  letters? 

February  26,  1522. 

Our  dove  of  peace  has  come  back  to  our  home;  our  Eva! 
This  evening  when  I went  over  with  a message  to  my 
mother,  to  my  amazement  I saw  her  sitting  with  her  hand 
in  my  father’s,  quietly  reading  to  him  the  twenty-third 
Psalm,  while  my  grandmother  sat  listening,  and  my  mother 
was  contentedly  knitting  beside  them. 

It  seemed  as  if  she  had  scarcely  been  absent  a day,  so 
quietly  had  she  glided  into  her  old  place.  It  seemed  so 
natural,  and  yet  so  like  a dream,  that  the  sense  of  wonder 
passed  from  me  as  it  does  in  dreams,  and  I went  up  to  her 
and  kissed  her  forehead. 

“Dear  Cousin  Else,  is  it  you?”  she  said.  “I  intended 
to  have  come  to  you  the  first  thing  to-morrow.” 

The  dear,  peaceful,  musical  voice,  what  a calm  it  shed 
over  the  home  again ! 

“You  see  you  have  all  left  Aunt  Cotta,”  she  said,  with 
a slight  tremulousness  in  her  tone,  “so  I am  come  back  to 
be  with  her  always,  if  she  will  let  me.” 

There  were  never  any  protestations  of  affection  between 
my  mother  and  Eva,  they  understood  each  other  so  com- 
pletely. 

February  28. 

Yes,  it  is  no  dream.  Eva  has  left  the  convent,  and  is 
one  of  us  once  more.  Now  that  she  has  resumed  all  her 


304 


THE  SCHON BERG-GO TTA  FAMILY, 


old  ways,  I wonder  more  than  ever  how  we  could  have  got 
on  without  her.  She  speaks  as  quietly  of  her  escape  from 
the  convent,  and  her  lonely  journey  across  the  country,  as  if 
it  were  the  easiest  and  most  everyday  occurrence.  She  says 
every  one  seemed  anxious  to  help  her  and  take  care  of  her. 

She  is  very  little  changed.  Hers  was  not  a face  to 
change.  The  old  guileless  expression  is  on  her  lips — the 
same  trustful,  truthful  light  in  her  dark  soft  eyes;  the 
calm,  peaceful  brow,  that  always  reminded  one  of  a sunny, 
cloudless  sky,  is  calm  and  bright  still;  and  around  it  the 
golden  hair,  not  yet  grown  from  its  conventual  cutting, 
clusters  in  little  curls,  which  remind  me  of  her  first  days 
with  us  at  Eisenach.  Only  all  the  character  of  the  face 
seems  deepened,  I cannot  say  shadowed,  but  penetrated 
with  that  kind  of  look  which  I fancy  must  always  distin- 
guish the  faces  of  the  saints  above  from  those  of  the  angels, 
those  who  have  suffered  from  those  who  have  only  sympa- 
thized; that  deep,  tender,  patient,  trusting,  human  look, 
which  is  stamped  on  those  who  have  passed  to  the  heavenly,  • 
rapturous  “Thy  will  be  done,”  through  the  agony  of  “Not 
my  will,  but  Thine.” 

At  first  Gretchen  met  her  with  the  kind  of  reverent  face 
she  has  at  church;  and  she  asked  me  afterward,  “Is  that 
really  the  Cousin  Eva  in  the  picture?”  But  now  there  is 
the  most  familiar  intimacy  between  them,  and  Gretchen 
confidingly  and  elaborately  expounds  to  Cousin  Eva  all  her 
most  secret  plans  and  delights.  The  boys,  also,  have  a 
most  unusual  value  for  her  good  opinion,  and  appear  to 
think  her  judgment  beyond  that  of  ordinary  women;  for 
yesterday  little  Fritz  was  eagerly  explaining  to  her  the  vir- 
tues of  a new  bow  that  had  been  given  him,  formed  in  the 
English  fashion. 

She  is  very  anxious  to  set  nine  young  nuns,  who  have 
embraced  the  Lutheran  doctrine,  free  from  Nimptschem 
Gottfried  thinks  it  very  difficult,  but  by  no  means  imprac- 
ticable in  time. 

Meanwhile,  what  a stormy  world  our  dove  has  returned 
to!  the  university  well-nigh  disorganized;  the  town  in 
commotion;  and  no  German  Bible  yet  in  any  one’s  hands, 
by  which,  as  Gottfried  says,  the  claims  of  these  new  proph- 
ets might  be  tested. 

Yet  it  does  not  seem  to  depress  Eva.  She  says  it  seems 
to  her  like  coming  out  of  the  ark  into  a new  world;  and5 


THE  8CE0NBEBG-C0TTA  FAMILY . 


305 


no  doubt,  Noah  did  not  find  everything  laid  out  in  order 
for  him.  She  is  quite  on  my  mother’s  side  about  the 
prophets.  She  says,  the  apostles  preached  not  themselves, 
but  Christ  Jesus  the  Lord.  If  the  Zwickau  prophets 
preach  Him,  they  preach  nothing  new;  and  if  they  preach 
themselves,  neither  God  nor  the  angel  Gabriel  gave  them 
that  message. 

Our  great  sorrow  is  Fritz’s  continued  imprisonment. 
At  first  we  felt  sure  he  would  escape,  but  every  month 
lessens  our  hopes,  until  we  scarcely  dare  speak  of  him 
except  in  our  prayers.  Yet  daily,  together  with  his 
deliverance,  Gottfried  and  I pray  for  the  return  of  Dr. 
Luther,  and  for  the  prosperous  completion  of  his  transla- 
tion of  the  German  Bible,  which  Gottfried  believes  will  be 
the  greatest  boon  Dr.  Luther  has  given,  or  can  ever  give, 
to  the  German  people,  and  through  them  to  Christendom. 


PART  XVIII. 
else’s  story. 

Saturday,  March  8,  1522. 

The  great  warm  heart  is  beating  among  us  once  more. 

Dr.  Luther  is  once  more  dwelling  quietly  in  the  Augus- 
tinian  cloister,  which  he  left  for  Worms  a year  ago.  What 
changes  since  then ! He  left  us  amid  our  tears  and  vain 
**  entreaties  not  to  trust  his  precious  life  to  the  treacherous 
safe-conduct  which  had  entrapped  John  Huss  to  the  stake. 

He  returns  unscathed  and  triumphant — the  defender  of 
the  good  cause  before  emperor,  prelates,  and  princes,  the 
hero  of  our  German  people. 

He  left  citizens  and  students  for  the  most  part  trem- 
bling at  the  daring  of  his  words  and  deeds. 

He  returns  to  find  students  and  burghers  impetuously 
and  blindly  rushing  on  in  the  track  he  opened,  beyond  his 
judgment  and  convictions. 

He  left,  the  foremost  in  the  attack,  timidly  followed  as 
he  hurried  forward,  braving  death  alone. 

He  returns  to  recall  the  scattered  forces,  dispersed  and 
divided  in  wild  and  impetuous  pursuit. 

Will,  then,  his  voice  be  as  powerful  to  recall  and  reor- 
ganize as  it  was  to  urge  forward? 

He  wrote  to  the  elector,  on  his  way  from  the  Wartburg, 


306  THE  SCHdjSTB ERG-GOTTA  FAMIL  Y. 

disclaiming  his  protection — declaring  that  he  returned  to 
the  flock  God  had  committed  to  him  at  Wittenberg,  called 
and  constrained  by  God  himself,  and  under  mightier  pro- 
tection than  that  of  an  elector!  The  sword,  he  said,  could 
not  defend  the  truth.  The  mightiest  are  those  whose 
faith  is  mightiest.  Eelying  on  his  master,  Christ,  and  on 
him  alone,  he  came. 

Gottfried  says  it  is  fancy,  but  already  it  seems  to  me  I 
see  a difference  in  the  town — less  bold,  loud  talking,  than 
the  day  before  yesterday;  as  in  a family  of  eager,  noisy 
boys,  whose  father  is  among  them  again.  But  after  to- 
morrow, we  shall  be  able  to  judge  better.  He  is  to  preach 
in  the  city  pulpit. 

Monday,  March  10,  1522. 

We  have  heard  him  preach  once  more.  Thank  God, 
those  days  in  the  wilderness,  as  he  called  it,  have  surely 
not  been  lost  days  for  Dr.  Luther. 

As  he  stood  again  in  the  pulpit,  many  among  the 
crowded  congregation  could  not  refrain  from  shedding  tears 
of  joy.  In  that  familiar  form,  and  truthful,  earnest  face, 
we  saw  the  man  who  had  stood  unmoved  before  the  em- 
peror and  all  the  great  ones  of  the  empire — alone,  uphold- 
ing the  truth  of  God. 

Many  of  us  saw,  moreover,  with  even  deeper  emotion, 
the  sufferer  who,  during  those  last  ten  months,  had  stood 
before  an  enemy  more  terrible  than  pope  or  emperor,  in 
the  solitude  of  the  Wartburg;  and  while  his  own  heart  and 
flesh  were  often  well-nigh  failing  in  the  conflict,  had  never 
failed  to  carry  on  the  struggle  bravely  and  triumphantly 
for  us  his  flock;  sending  masterly  replies  to  the  University 
of  Paris;  smiting  the  lying  traffic  with  indulgences,  by  one 
noble  remonstrance,  from  the  trembling  hands  of  the  arch- 
bishop of  Mainz;  writing  letter  after  letter  of  consolation 
or  fatherly  counsel  to  the  little  flock  of  Christ  at  Witten- 
berg; and,  through  all,  toiling  at  that  translation  of  the 
Word  of  God,  which  is  the  great  hope  of  our  country. 

But  older,  tenderer,  more  familiar  associations,  mastered 
all  the  others  when  we  heard  his  voice  again — the  faithful 
voice  that  had  warned  and  comforted  us  so  long  in  public 
and  in  private.  To  others,  Dr.  Luther  might  be  the  hero 
of  Worms,  the  teacher  of  Germany,  the  St.  George  who 
had  smitten  the  dragon  of  falsehood  j to  us  he  was  the  true? 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMIL  Y . 307 

affectionate  pastor;  and  many  of  us,  I believe,  heard  little 
of  the  first  words  of  his  sermon,  for  the  mere  joy  of  hear- 
ing his  voice  again,  as  the  clear,  deep  tones  vibrated 
through  the  silent  church. 

He  began  with  commending  our  faith.  He  said  we  had 
made  much  progress  during  his  absence.  But  he  went  on 
to  say,  “We  must  have  more  than  faith — we  must  have 
love.  If  a man  with  a sword  in  his  hand  happens  to  be 
alone,  it  matters  little  whether  he  keep  it  in  the  scabbard 
or  not;  but  if  he  is  in  the  midst  of  a crowd,  he  must  take 
care  to  hold  it  so  as  not  to  hurt  any  one. 

“A  mother  begins  with  giving  her  infant  milk.  Would 
it  live  if  she  gave  it  first  meat  and  wine? 

“But  thou,  my  friend,  hast,  perhaps,  had  enough  of 
milk.  It  may  be  well  for  thee.  Yet  let  thy  weaker, 
younger  brother  take  it.  The  time  was  when  thou  also 
couldst  have  taken  nothing  else. 

“ See  the  sun ! It  brings  us  two  things — light  and  heat. 
The  rays  of  light  beam  directly  on  us.  No  king  is  power- 
ful enough  to  intercept  those  keen,  direct,  swift  rays.  But 
heat  is  radiated  back  to  us  from  every  side.  Thus,  like 
the  light,  faith  should  ever  be  direct  and  inflexible;  but  love, 
like  the  heat,  should  radiate  on  all  sides,  and  meekly  adapt 
itself  to  the  wants  of  all. 

“The  abolition  of  the  mass,  you  say,”  he  continued,  “is 
according  to  Scripture.  I agree  with  you,  but  in  abolishing 
it,  .what  regard  had  you  for  order  and  decency?  You 
should  have  offered  fervent  prayers  to  God,  public  authority 
should  have  been  applied  to,  and  every  one  would  have  seen 
then  that  the  thing  came  from  God. 

“The  mass  is  a bad  thing;  God  is  its  enemy;  it  ought 
to  be  abolished;  and  I would  that  throughout  the  whole 
world  it  were  superseded  by  the  Supper  of  the  Gospel. 
But  let  none  tear  any  one  away  from  it  with  violence.  The 
matter  ought  to  be  committed  to  God.  It  is  his  Word  that 
must  act,  and  not  we.  And  wherefore,  do  you  say?  Be- 
cause I do  not  hold  the  hearts  of  men  in  my  hand  as  the 
potter  holds  the  clay  in  his.  Our  work  is  to  speak;  God 
will  act.  Let  us  preach.  The  rest  belongs  to  him.  If  I 
employ  force,  what  do  I gain?  Changes  in  demeanor,  out- 
ward shows,  grimaces,  shams,  hypocrisies.  But  what  be- 
comes of  sincerity  of  heart,  of  faith,  of  Christian  love? 
All  is  wanting  where  these  are  wanting;  and  for  the  rest  1 
would  not  give  the  stalk  of  a pear. 


308 


THE  8CH0NB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


“What  we  want  is  the  heart;  and  to  win  that,  we  must 
preach  the  Gospel.  Then  the  word  will  drop  to-day  into 
one  heart,  to-morrow  into  another,  and  will  so  work  that, 
each  will  forsake  the  mass.  God  effects  more  than  you 
and  I and  the  whole  world  combined  could  attempt.  He 
secures  the  heart;  and  when  that  is  won,  all  is  won. 

“I  say  not  this  in  order  to  re-establish  the  mass.  'Since 
it  has  been  put  down,  in  God’s  name  let  it  remain  so.  But 
ought  it  to  have  been  put  down  in  the  way  it  has  been? 
St.  Paul,  on  arriving  at  the  great  city  of  Athens,  found 
altars  there  erected  to  false  gods.  He  passed  from  one  to 
another,  made  his  own  reflections  on  all,  but  touched  none. 
But  he  returned  peaceably  to  the  Forum,  and  declared  to 
the  people  that  all  those  gods  were  mere  idols.  This 
declaration  laid  hold  on  the  hearts  of  some,  and  the  idols 
fell  without  Paul’s  touching  them.  I would  preach,  I 
would  speak,  I would  write,  but  I would  lay  constraint  on 
no  one;  for  faith  is  a voluntary  thing.  See  what  I have 
done!  I rose  in  opposition  to  the  pope,  to  indulgences,  and 
the  papists;  but  I did  so  without  tumult  or  violence.  I 
pressed  before  all  things  the  Word  of  God;  I preached,  I 
wrote;  I did  nothing  else.  And  while  I was  asleep,  or 
seated  at  table  in  conversation  with  Amsdorf  and  Melanc- 
thon,  over  our  Wittenberg  beer,  that  Word  which  I had 
been  preaching  was  working,  and  subverted  the  popedom 
as  never  before  it  was  damaged  by  assault  of  prince  or 
emperor.  I did  nothing;  all  was  done  by  the  Word.  Had 
I sought  to  appeal  to  force,  Germany  might  by  this  time 
have  been  steeped  in  blood.  And  what  would  have  been 
the  result?  Euin  and  desolation  of  soul  and  body.  I 
therefore  kept  myself  quiet,  and  left  the  Word  to  force  its 
own  way  through  the  world.  Know  you  what  the  devil 
thinks  when  he  sees  people  employ  violence  in  disseminat- 
ing the  Gospel  among  men?  Seated  with  his  arms  crossed 
behind  hell-fire,  Satan  says,  with  a malignant  look  and 
hideous  leer,  ‘Ah,  but  these  fools  are  wise  men,  indeed,  to 
do  my  work  for  me!’  But  when  he  sees  the  Word  go  forth 
and  engage  alone  on  the  field  of  battle,  then  he  feels  ill  at 
ease;  his  knees  smite  against  each  other,  he  shudders  and 
swoons  away  with  terror.” 

Quietly  and  reverently,  not  with  loud  debating®  and 
noisy  protestations  of  what  they  would  do  next,  the  cqh- 
gregation  dispersed. 


THE  SGH ONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY. 


309 


The  words  of  forbearance  came  with  such  weight  from 
that  daring,  fearless  heart,  which  has  braved  the  wrath  of 
popedom  and  empire  alone  for  God,  and  still  braves  excom- 
munication and  ban ! 

Wednesday,  March  11. 

Yesterday  again  Dr.  Luther  preached.  He  earnestly 
warned  us  against  the  irreverent  participation  in  the  holy 
sacrament.  “It  is  not  the  external  eating  which  makes 
the  Christian,”  he  said,  “it  is  the  internal  and  spiritual 
eating,  which  is  the  work  of  faith,  and  without  which  all 
external  things  are  mere  empty  shows  and  vain  grimaces. 
Now  this  faith  consists  in  firmly  believing  that  Jesus 
Christ  is  the  Son  of  God;  that  having  charged  himself 
with  our  sins  and  our  iniquities,  and  having  borne  them 
on  the  cross,  he  is  himself  the  sole,  the  all-sufficient  expia- 
tion; that  he  ever  appears  before  God;  that  he  reconciles 
us  to  the  Father,  and  that  he  has  given  us  the  sacrament 
of  his  body  in  order  to  strengthen  our  faith  in  that  un- 
utterable mercy.  If  I believe  these  things,  God  is  my 
defender;  with  him  on  my  side,  I brave  sin,  death,  hell, 
and  demons;  they  can  do  me  no  harm,  nor  even  touch  a 
hair  of  my  head.  This  spiritual  bread  is  the  consolation 
of  the  afflicted,  the  cure  of  the  sick,  the  life  of  the  dying, 
the  foodmf  the  hungry,  the  treasure  of  the  poor.  He  who 
is  not  grieved  by  his  sins,  ought  not,  then,  to  approach 
this  altar.  What  would  he  do  there?  Ah,  did  our  con- 
science accuse  us,  did  our  heart  feel  crushed  at  the 
thought  of  our  shortcomings,  we  could  not  then  lightly 
approach  the  holy  sacrament.” 

There  were  more  among  us  than  the  monk  Gabriel 
Didymus  (a  few  days  since  one  of  the  most  devoted  of  the 
violent  faction,  now  sober  and  brought  to  his  right  mind), 
that  could  say  as  we  listened,  “ Verily  it  is  as  the  voice  of 
an  angel.” 

But,  thank  God,  it  is  not  the  voice  of  an  angel,  but  a 
human  voice  vibrating  to  every  feeling  of  our  hearts — the 
voice  of  our  own  true,  outspoken  Martin  Luther,  who  will, 
we  trust,  now  remain  with  us  to  build  up  with  the  same 
word  which  has  already  cleared  away  so  much. 

And  yet  I cannot  help  feeling  as  if  his  absence  had  done 
its  work  for  us  as  well  as  his  return.  If  the  hands  of  vio- 
lence can  be  arrested  now,  I cannot  but  rejoice  they  have 
done  just  as  much  as  they  have. 


310 


THE  SCIIONBE R G-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


Now,  let  Dr.  Luther’s  principle  stand.  Abolish  nothing 
that  is  not  directly  prohibited  by  the  holy  Scriptures. 

March  30. 

Dr.  Luther’s  eight  discourses  are  finished,  and  quiet 
is  restored  to  Wittenberg.  The  students  resume  their 
studies,  the  boys  return  to  school;  each  begins  with  a lowly 
heart  once  more  the  work  of  his  calling. 

No  one  has  been  punished.  Luther  would  not  have 
force  employed  either  against  the  superstitious  or  the  un- 
believing innovators.  “Liberty,”  he  says,  “is  of  the 
essence  of  faith.” 

With  his  tender  regard  for  the  sufferings  of  others  we 
do  not  wonder  so  much  at  this. 

But  we  all  wonder  far  more  at  the  gentleness  of  his 
words.  They  say  the  bravest  soldiers  make  the  best  nurses 
of  their  wounded  comrades.  Luther’s  hand  seems  to  have 
laid  aside  the  battle-axe,  and  coming  among  his  sick  and 
wounded  and  perplexed  people  here,  he  ministers  to  them 
gently  as  the  kindest  woman — as  our  own  mother  could, 
who  is  herself  won  over  to  love  and  revere  him  with  all  her 
heart. 

Not  a bitter  word  has  escaped  him,  although  the  cause 
these  disorders  are  risking  is  the  cause  for  which  he  has 
risked  his  life. 

And  there  are  no  more  tumults  in  the  streets.  The 
frightened  Cordelier  monks  may  carry  on  their  ceremonies 
without  terror,  or  the  aid  of  soldiery.  All  the  warlike 
spirits  are  turned  once  more  from  raging  against  small 
external  things,  to  the  great  battle  beginning  everywhere 
against  bondage  and  superstition. 

Dr.  Luther  himself  has  engaged  Dr.  Melancthon’s  assist- 
ance in  correcting  and  perfecting  the  translation  of  the 
New  Testament  he  accomplished  in  the  solitude  of  the 
Wartburg.  Their  friendship  seems  closer  than  ever. 

Christopher’s  press  is  in  the  fullest  activity,  and  all 
seem  full  of  happy,  orderly  occupation  again. 

Sometimes  I tremble  when  I think  how  much  we  seem 
to  depend  on  Dr.  Luther,  lest  we  should  make  an  idol  of 
him;  but  Thekla,  who  is  among  us  again,  said  to  me  when 
I expressed  this  fear: 

“Ah,  dear  Else,  it  is  the  old  superstition.  When  God 
gives  us  a glorious  summer  and  good  harvest,  are  we  to 


THE  SCHOJSl  BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


311 


receive  it  coldly  and  enjoy  it  tremblingly,  lest  he  should 
send  us  a bad  season  next  year  to  prevent  our  being  too 
happy?  If  he  sends  the  dark  days  will  he  not  also  give  us 
a lamp  for  our  feet  through  them?” 

And  even  our  gentle  mother  said: 

“ I think  if  God  gives  us  a staff,  Else,  he  intends  us  to 
lean  on  it.” 

“And  when  he  takes  it  away,”  said  Eva,  “I  think  he  is 
sure  to  give  us  his  own  hand  instead.  I think  what  grieves 
God  is,  when  we  use  his  gifts  for  what  he  did  not  intend 
them  to  be;  as  if,  for  instance,  we  were  to  plant  our  staff, 
instead  of  leaning  on  it;  or  to  set  it  up  as  an  image  and 
adore  it,  instead  of  resting  on  it  and  adoring  God.  Then , 
I suppose,  we  might  have  to  learn  that  our  idol  was  not  in 
itself  a support,  or  a living  thing  at  all,  but  only  a piece 
of  lifeless  wood.” 

“Yes,”  said  Thekla  decidedly,  “when  God  gives  us 
friends,  I believe  he  means  us  to  love  them  as  much  as  we 
can.  And  when  he  gives  us  happiness,  I am  sure  he 
means  us  to  enjoy  it  as  much  as  we  can.  And  when 
he  gives  soldiers  a good  general,  he  means  them  to 
trust  and  follow  him.  And  when  he  gives  us  back 
Dr.  Luther  and  Cousin  Eva,”  she  added,  drawing  Eva’s 
hand  from  her  work  and  covering  it  with  kisses,  “I 
am  quite  sure  he  means  us  to  welcome  them  with  all  our 
hearts,  and  feel  that  we  can  never  make  enough  of  them. 
Oh  Else,”  she  added,  smiling,  “you  will  never,  I am  afraid, 
be  set  quite  free  from  the  old  fetters.  Every  now  and  then 
we  shall  hear  them  clanking  about  you,  like  the  chains  of 
the  family  ghost  of  the  Gersdorfs.  Yrou  will  never  quite 
believe,  dear  good  sister,  that  God  is  not  better  pleased 
with  you  when  you  are  sad  than  when  you  are  happy.” 

“He  is  often  nearest,”  said  Eva  softly,  “when  we  are 
sad.”  And  Thekla’s  lip  quivered  and  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears  as  she  replied  in  a different  tone: 

“I  think  I know  that  too,  Cousin  Eva.” 

Poor  child,  she  has  often  had  to  prove  it.  Her  heart 
must  often  ache  when  she  thinks  of  the  perilous  position  of 
Bertrand  de  Crequi  among  his  hostile  kindred  in  Flanders. 
And  it  is  therefore  she  cannot  bear  a shadow  of  a doubt  to 
be  thrown  on  the  certainty  of  their  reunion. 

The  evangelical  doctrine  is  enthusiastically  welcomed  at 
Antwerp  and  other  cities  of  the  Low  Countries,  But>  oij 


312 


THE  SCHONBERQ-COTT A FAMILY. 


the  other  hand,  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  authorities 
oppose  it  vehemently,  and  threaten  persecution. 

May,  1522. 

Dr.  Luther  has  had  an  interview  with  Mark  Stubner, 
the  schoolmaster  Cellarius,  and  others  of  the  Zwickau 
prophets  and  their  disciples.  He  told  them  plainly  that  he 
believed  their  violent,  self-willed,  fanatical  proceedings 
were  suggested,  not  by  the  Holy  Spirit  of  love  and  truth, 
but  by  the  spirit  of  lies  and  malice.  Yet  he  is  said  to  have 
listened  to  them  with  quietness.  Cellarius,  they  say, 
foamed  and  gnashed  his  teeth  with  rage,  but  Stubner 
showed  more  self-restraint. 

However,  the  prophets  have  all  left  Wittenberg,  and 
quiet  is  restored. 

A calm  has  come  down  on  the  place,  and  on  every  home 
in  it — the  calm  of  order  and  subjection  instead  of  the  rest- 
lessness of  self-will.  And  all  has  been  accomplished  through 
the  presence  and  the  words  of  the  man  whom  God  has  sent 
to  be  our  leader,  and  whom  we  acknowledge.  Not  one  act 
of  violence  has  been  done  since  he  came.  He  would  suffer 
no  contraint  either  on  the  consciences  of  the  disciples  of 
the  “ prophets,”  or  on  those  of  the  old  superstition.  He 
relies,  as  we  all  do,  on  the  effect  of  the  translation  of  the 
Bible  into  German,  which  is  now  quietly  and  rapidly 
advancing. 

Every  week  the  doctors  meet  in  the  Augustinian  con- 
vent, now  all  but  empty,  to  examine  the  work  done,  and 
to  consult  about  difficult  passages.  When  once  this  is 
accomplished,  they  believe  God  will  speak  through  those 
divine  pages  direct  to  all  men’s  hearts,  and  preachers  and 
doctors  may  retire  to  their  lowly  subordinate  places. 

ATLANTIS’  STORY, 

Chriemhild  and  I have  always  been  the  least  clever  of 
the  family,  and  with  much  less  that  is  distinctive  about  us. 
Indeed,  I do  not  think  there  is  anything  particularly  char- 
acteristic about  us,  except  our  being  twins.  Thekla  says 
we  are  pure  Saxons,  and  have  neither  of  us  anything  of  the 
impetuous  Czech  or  Bohemian  blood;  which  may  so  far  be 
good  for  me,  because  Conrad  has  not  a little  of  the  vehe- 
ment Swiss  character  in  him.  Every  one  always  spoke  of 


THE  SGHONBERG-OOTTA  FAMILY . 


313 


Chriemhild  and  me,  and  thought  of  us  together;  and 
when  they  called  us  the  beauties  of  the  family,  I think 
they  chiefly  meant  that  we  looked  pleasant  together  by 
contrast.  Thekla  says  God  sends  the  flowers  into  the 
world  as  twins;  contrasting  with  each  other  just  as  we  did, 
the  dark-eyed  violets  with  the  fair  primroses,  golden  gorse, 
and  purple  heather.  Chriemhild  she  used  sometimes  to 
call  sister  Primrose,  and  me  sister  Violet.  Chriemhild, 
however,  is  beautiful  by  herself  without  me,  so  tall,  and 
fair,  and  placid,  and  commanding-looking,  with  her  large 
gray  eyes,  her  calm  broad  brow,  and  her  erect  full  figure, 
which  always  made  her  gentle  manner  seem  condescending 
like  a queen’s.  But  I am  nothing  without  Chriemhild; 
only  people  used  to  like  to  see  my  small  light  figure,  and 
my  black  eyes  and  hair,  beside  hers. 

I wonder  what  Conrad  Winkelried’s  people  will  think  of 
me  in  that  far-off  mountainous  Switzerland  whither  he  is  to 
take  me!  He  is  sure  they  will  all  love  me;  but  how  can  I 
tell?  Sometimes  my  heart  flutters  a great  deal  to  think 
of  leaving  home,  and  Else  and  the  dear  mother,  and  all. 
It  is  true  Chriemhild  seemed  to  find  it  quite  natural  when 
the  time  came,  but  she  is  so  different.  Every  one  was  sure 
to  be  pleased  with  Chriemhild. 

And  I am  so  accustomed  to  love  and  kindness.  They  all 
know  me  so  well  here,  and  how  much  less  clever  I am 
than  the  rest,  that  they  all  bear  with  me  tenderly.  Even 
Thekla,  who  is  often  a little  vehement,  is  always  gentle 
with  me,  although  she  may  laugh  a little  sometimes  when 
I say  anything  more  foolish  than  usual.  I am  so  often 
making  discoveries  of  things  that  every  one  else  knew  long 
since.  I do  not  think  I am  so  much  afraid  on  my  own 
account,  because  I have  so  little  right  to  expect  anything, 
and  always  get  so  much  more  than  I deserve  from  our  dear 
heavenly  Father  and  from  every  one.  Only  on  Conrad’s 
account  I should  like  to  be  a little  wiser,  because  he  knows 
so  many  languages,  and  is  so  very  clever.  When  I spoke 
to  Else  about  it  once,  she  smiled  and  said  she  had  the  same 
kind  of  fears  once,  but  if  we  ask  him,  God  will  always  give 
us  just  the  wisdom  we  want  day  by  day.  It  is  part  of  the 
“ daily  bread,”  she  said.  And  certainly  Else  is  not  learned, 
and  yet  every  one  loves  her,  and  she  does  so  much  good  in 
a quiet  way.  But  then,  although  she  is  not  learned,  she 
seems  to  me  wise  in  little  things.  And  she  used  to  write 


3 1 4 TEE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMIL  T. 

a Chronicle  when  she  was  younger  than  I am.  She  told 
me  so,  although  I have  never  seen  it.  I have  been  think- 
ing that  perhaps  it  is  writing  the  Chronicle  that  has  made 
her  wise,  and  therefore  I intend  to  try  to  write  one.  But 
as  at  present  I can  think  of  nothing  to  say  of  my  own,  I 
will  begin  by  copying  a narrative  Conrad  lent  me  to  read  a 
few  days  since,  written  by  a young  Swiss  student,  a friend 
of  his,  who  has  just  come  to  Wittenberg  from  St.  Gall, 
where  his  family  live.  His  name  is  Johann  Kessler,  and 
Conrad  thinks  him  very  good  and  diligent. 

“ Copy  of  Johann  Kessler's  Narrative . 

“As  we  were  journeying  toward  Wittenberg  to  study  the 
holy  Scriptures,  at  Jena  we  encountered  a fearful  tempest, 
and  after  many  inquiries  in  the  town  for  an  inn  where  we 
might  pass  the  night,  we  could  find  none,  either  by  seeking 
or  asking;  no  one  would  give  us  a night’s  lodging.  For  it 
was  carnival  time,  when  people  have  little  care  for  pilgrims 
had  strangers.  So  we  went  forth  again  from  the  town,  to 
try  if  we  could  find  a village  where  we  might  rest  for  the 
night. 

“At  the  gate,  however,  a respectable-looking  man  met 
us,  and  spoke  kindly  to  us,  and  asked  whither  we  journeyed 
so  late  at  night,  since  in  no  direction  could  we  reach  house 
or  inn  where  we  could  find  shelter  before  dark  night  set  in. 
It  was,  moreover,  a road  easy  to  lose;  he  counseled  us, 
therefore,  to  remain  all  night  where  we  were. 

“We  answered: 

“ ‘Dear  father,  we  have  been  at  all  the  inns,  and  they 
sent  us  from  one  to  another;  everywhere  they  refused  us 
lodging;  we  have,  therefore,  no  choice  but  to  journey 
further.’ 

“ Then  he  asked  if  we  had  also  inquired  at  the  sign  of 
the  Black  Bear. 

■ “Then  we  said: 

“ ‘We  have  not  seen  it.  Friend,  where  is  it?’ 

“ Then  he  led  us  a little  out  of  the  town.  And  when 
we  saw  the  Black  Bear,  lo,  whereas  all  the  other  landlords 
and  refused  us  shelter  the  landlord  there  came  himself  out 
at  the  gate  tojeceive  us,  bade  us  welcome,  sfnd  led  us  into 
the  room. 

“There  we  found  a man  sitting  alone  at  the  table,  and 
before  him  lay  a little  book.  He  greeted  us  kindly,  asked 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


315 


ns  to  draw  near,  and  to  place  ourselves  by  him  at  the  table. 
For  our  shoes  (may  we  be  excused  for  writing  it)  were  so 
covered  with  mud  and  dirt,  that  we  were  ashamed  to  enter 
boldly  into  the  chamber,  and  had  seated  ourselves  on  a 
little  bench  in  a corner  near  the  door. 

“Then  he  asked  us  to  drink,  which  we  could  not  refuse. 
When  we  saw  how  cordial  and  friendly  he  was,  we  seated 
ourselves  near  him  at  his  table  as  he  had  asked  us,  and 
ordered  wine  that  we  might  ask  him  to  drink  in  return. 
We  thought  nothing  else  but  that  he  was  a trooper,^  he 
sat  there,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  country,  in  hosen 
and  tunic,  without  armor,  a sword  by  his  side,  his  right 
hand  on  the  pommel  of  the  sword,  his  left  grasping  its  hilt. 
His  eyes  were  black  and  deep,  flashing  and  beaming  like 
a star,  so  that  they  could  not  well  be  looked  at. 

“Soon  he  began  to  ask  what  was  our  native  country. 
But  he  himself  replied: 

“ ‘You  are  Switzers.  From  what  part  of  Switzerland?’ 
“We  answered: 

“ ‘From  St.  Gall.’ 

“ Then  he  said : 

“ ‘If  you  are  going  hence  to  Wittenberg,  as  I hear,  you 
will  find  good  fellow-countrymen  there,  namely,  Dr.  Hier- 
onymus Schurf,  and  his  brother,  Dr.  Augustin.’ 

“ We  said: 

“ ‘We  have  letters  to  them.’  And  then  we  inquired: 

“ ‘Sir,  can  you  inform  us  if  Martin  Luther  is  now  at 
Wittenberg,  or  if  not  where  he  is?’ 

“ He  said : 

“‘I  have  reliable  information  that  Luther  is  not  now  at 
Wittenberg.  He  will,  however,  soon  be  there.  Philip 
Melancthon  is  there  now;  he  teaches  Greek,  and  others 
teach  Hebrew.  I counsel  you  earnestly  to  study  both;  for 
both  are  necessary  in  order  to  understand  the  holy  Scrip- 
tures. ’ 

“We  said: 

“ ‘God  be  praised!  For  if  God  spare  our  lives  we  will 
not  depart  till  we  see  and  hear  that  man;  since  on  his 
account  have  we  undertaken  this  journey,  because  we 
understood  that  he  purposes  to  abolish  the  priesthood, 
together  with  the  mass,  as  an  unfounded  worship.  For  as 
we  have  from  our  youth  been  destined  by  our  parents  to 
be  priests,  we  would  know  what  kind  of  instruction  he  will 


316  THE  jSCHONB  ERG-COTTA  family. 

give  ns,  and  on  what  authority  he  seeks  to  effect  such  an 
object.’ 

“ After  these  words,  he  asked: 

“ ‘Where  have  you  studied  hitherto?’ 

“Answer,  ‘At  Basel.’ 

“Then  said  he,  ‘How  goes  it  at  Basel?  Is  Erasmus  of 
Rotterdam  still  there,  and  what  is  he  doing?’ 

“‘Sir,’  said  we,  ‘we  know  not  that  things  are  going  on 
there  otherwise  than  well.  Also,  Erasmus  is  there,  but 
what  he  is  occupied  with  is  unknown  to  any  one,  for  he 
keeps  himself  very  quiet,  and  in  great  seclusion.’ 

“ This  discourse  seemed  to  us  very  strange  in  the  trooper; 
that  he  should  know  how  to  speak  of  both  the  Schurfs,  of 
Philip,  and  Erasmus,  and  also  of  the  study  of  Hebrew  and 
Greek. 

“ Moreover  he  now  and  then  used  Latin  words,  so  that 
we  deemed  he  must  be  more  than  a common  trooper. 

“‘Friend,’  he  asked,  ‘what  do  they  think  in  Switzerland 
of  Luther?’ 

“‘Sir,  there,  as  elsewhere,  there  are  various  opinions. 
Many  cannot  enough  exalt  him,  and  praise  God  that  He 
has  made  His  truth  plain  through  him,  and  laid  error 
bare;  many,  on  the  other  hand,  and  among  these  more 
especially  the  clergy,  condemn  him  as  a reprobate  heretic.’ 
“Then  he  said,  ‘I  can  easily  believe  it  is  the  clergy  that 
speak  thus.’ 

With  such  conversation  we  grew  quite  confidential,  so 
that  my  companion  took  up  the  little  book  that  lay  before 
him,  and  looked  at  it.  It  was  a Hebrew  Psalter.  Then 
he  laid  it  quickly  down  again,  and  the  trooper  drew  it  to 
himself.  And  my  companion  said,  ‘I  would  give  a finger 
from  my  hand  to  understand  that  language.’ 

“He  answered,  ‘You  will  soon  comprehend  it,  if  you  are 
diligent;  I also  desire  to  understand  it  better,  and  practise 
myself  daily  in  it.’ 

“Meantime  the  day  declined,  and  it  became  quite  dark, 
when  the  host  came  to  the  table. 

“When  he  understood  our  fervent  desire  and  longing  to 
see  Martin  Luther,  he  said: 

“‘Good  friends,  if  you  had  been  here  two  days  ago,  you 
would  have  had  your  wish,  for  he  sat  here  at  table,  and’ 
(pointing  with  his  finger)  ‘in  that  place.’ 

“It  vexed  and  fretted  us  much  that  we  should  have  lin- 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


31? 

gered  on  the  way;  and  we  vented  our  anger  on  the  muddy 
and  wretched  roads  that  had  delayed  us. 

“ But  we  added  : 

“‘It  rejoices  us,  however,  to  sit  in  the  house  and  at  the 
table  where  he  sat.  ’ 

“Thereat  the  host  laughed,  and  went  out  at  the  door. 
“After  a little  while,  he  called  me  to  come  to  him  at  the 
door  of  the  chamber.  I was  alarmed,  fearing  I had  done 
something  unsuitable,  or  that  I had  unwittingly  given 
some  offense*  But  the  host  said  to  me: 

“‘Since  I perceive  that  you  so  much  wish  to  see  and  hear 
Luther,  that  is  he  who  is  sitting  with  you.’ 

“I  thought  he  was  jesting,  and  said: 

“‘Ah,  Sir  Host,  you  would  befool  me  and  my  wishes 
with  a false  image  of  Luther!’ 

“ He  answered : 

“‘It  is  certainly  he.  But  do  not  seem  as  if  you  knew 
this.  ’ 

“ I could  not  believe  it ; but  I went  back  into  the  room,  and 
longed  to  tell  my  companion  what  the  host  had  disclosed 
to  me.  At  last  I turned  to  him,  and  whispered  softly : 
“‘The  host  has  told  me  that  is  Luther.’ 

“He,  like  me,  could  not  at  once  believe  it,  and  said: 
“‘He  said,  perhaps,  it  was  Hutten,  and  thou  hast  mis- 
understood him.’ 

“And  because  the  stranger’s  bearing  and  military  dress 
suited  Hutten  better  than  Luther,  I' suffered  myself  to  be 
persuaded  he  had  said,  ‘It  is  Hutten,’  since  the  two  names 
had  a somewhat  similar  sound.  What  I said  further, 
therefore,  was  on  the  supposition  that  I was  conversing 
with  Huldrich  ab  Hutten,  the  knight. 

“While  this  was  going  on,  two  merchants  arrived,  who 
intended  also  to  remain  the  night;  and  after  they  had 
taken  off  their  outer  coats  and  their  spurs,  one  laid  down 
beside  him  an  unbound  book. 

“ Then  he  the  host  had  (as  I thought)  called  Martin 
Luther,  asked  what  the  book  was. 

“‘It  is  Dr.  Martin  Luther’s  Exposition  of  certain  Gos- 
pels and  Epistles,  just  published.  Have  you  not  yet  seen 
it?’ 

“Said  Martin,  ‘It  will  soon  be  sent  to  me.’ 

“Then  said  the  host: 

“‘Place  yourselves  at  table;  we  will  eat.’ 


318 


TEE  SGEONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


“But  we  besought  him  to  excuse  us,  and  give  us  a place 
apart.  But  he  said : 

‘“Good  friends,  seat  yourselves  at  the  table.  I will  see 
that  you  are  welcome.  ’ 

“When  Martin  heard  that,  he  said: 

“‘Come,  come,  I will  settle  the  score  with  the  host  by 
and  by.’ 

“During  the  meal,  Martin  said  many  pious  and  friendly 
words,  so  that  the  merchants  and  we  were  dumb  before 
him,  and  heeded  his  discourse  far  more  than  our  food. 
Among  other  things,  he  complained,  with  a sigh,  how  the 
princes  and  nobles  were  gathered  at  the  Diet  at  Nurnberg 
on  account  of  God’s  word,  many  difficult  matters,  and  the 
oppression  of  the  German  nation,  and  yet  seemed  to  have 
no  purpose  but  to  bring  about  better  times  by  means  of 
tourneys,  sleigh-rides,  and  all  kinds  of  vain,  courtly  pleas- 
ures; whereas  the  fear  of  God  and  Christian  prayer  would 
accomplish  so  much  more. 

“‘Yet  these,’  said  he  sadly,  ‘are  our  Christian  princes!’ 
“Further,  he  said,  ‘We  must  hope  that  the  evangelical 
truth  will  bring  forth  better  fruit  in  our  children  and  suc- 
cessors— who  will  never  have  been  poisoned  by  papal  error, 
but  will  be  planted  in  the  pure  truth  and  word  of  God — 
than  in  their  parents,  in  whom  these  errors  are  so  deeply 
rooted  that  they  are  hard  to  eradicate.’ 

“After  this,  the  merchants  gave  their  opinion,  and  the 
elder  of  them  said : 

“‘I  am  a simple,  unlearned  layman,  and  have  no  special 
understanding  of  these  matters;  but  as  I look  at  the  thing, 
I say,  Luther  must  either  be  an  angel  from  heaven  or  a 
devil  from  hell.  I would  gladly  give  ten  florins  to  be  con- 
fessed by  him,  for  I believe  he  could  and  would  enlighten 
my  conscience.’ 

“ Meantime  the  host  came  secretly  to  us  and  said  : 
“‘Martin  has  paid  for  your  supper? 

“This  pleased  us  much,  not  on  account  of  the  gold  or 
the  meal,  but  "because  that  man  had  made  us  his  guests. 

“After  supper,  the  merchants  rose  and  went  into  the 
stable  to  look  after  their  horses.  Meanwhile  Martin 
remained  in  the  room  with  us,  and  we  thanked  him  for  his 
kindness  and  generosity,  and  ventured  to  say  we  took  him 
to  be  Huldrich  ab  Hutten.  But  he  said: 

“‘lam  not  he? 


THE  SGHONBERG-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


319 


“Thereon  the  host  came,  and  Martin  said: 

“‘I  have  to-night  become  a nobleman,  for  these  Switzers 
take  me  for  Huldrich  ab  Hutten.’ 

“And  then  he  laughed  at  the  jest,  and  said: 

“‘They  take  me  for  Hutten,  and  you  take  me  for 
Luther.  Soon  I shall  become  Markolfus  the  clown.’ 

“And  after  this  he  took  a tall  beer-glass,  and  said, 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  country : 

“‘Switzers,  drink  after  me  a friendly  draught  to  each 
other’s  welfare.’ 

“But  as  I was  about  to  take  the  glass  from  him,  he 
changed  it,  and  ordered,  instead,  a glass  of  wine,  and  said: 
“‘Beer  is  a strange  and  unwonted  beverage  to  you. 
Drink  the  wine.’ 

“Thereupon  he  stood  up,  threw  his  mantle  over  his 
shoulder,  and  took  leave.  He  offered  us  his  hand,  and 
said: 

“‘When  you  come  to  Wittenberg,  greet  Dr.  Hieronymus 
Schurf  from  me.  ’ 

“We  said: 

“‘Gladly  would  we  do  that,  but  what  shall  we  call  you, 
that  he  may  understand  the  greeting?’ 

“He  said: 

“‘Say  nothing  more  than,  He  who  is  coming  sends  you* 
greeting.  He  will  at  once  understand  the  words.’ 

“ Thus  he  took  leave  of  us,  and  retired  to  rest. 
“Afterward  the  merchants  returned  into  the  room,  and 
desired  the  host  to  bring  them  more  to  drink,  while  they 
had  much  talk  with  him  as  to  who  this  guest  really  was. 

“The  host  confessed  he  took  him  to  'be  Luther;  where- 
upon they  were  soon  persuaded,  and  regretted  that  they  had 
spoken  so  unbecomingly  before  him,  and  said  they  would 
rise  early  on  the  following  morning,  before  he  rode  off, 
and  beg  him  not  to  be  angry  with  them,  or  to  think  evil  of 
them,  since  they  had  not  known  who  he  was. 

“This  happened  as  they  wished,  and  they  found  him  the 
next  morning  in  the  stable. 

“But  Martin  said,  ‘You  said  last  night  at  supper  you 
would  gladly  give  ten  florins  to  confess  to  Luther.  When 
you  confess  yourselves  to  him  you  will  know  whether  I am 
Martin  Luther  or  not.’ 

“Further  than  this  he  did  not  declare  who  he  was,  but 
soon  afterward  mounted  and  rode  off  to  Wittenberg. 


320 


THE  SGHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


“On  the  same  day  we  came  to  Naumburg,  and  as  we 
entered  a village  (it  lies  under  a mountain,  and  I think  the 
mountain  is  called  Orlamunde,  and  the  village  Nasshausen), 
a stream  was  flowing  through  it  which  was  swollen  by  the 
rain  of  the  previous  day,  and  had  carried  away  part  of  the 
bridge,  so  that  no  one  could  ride  over  it.  In  the  same 
village  we  lodged  for  the  night,  and  it  happened  that  we 
again  found  in  the  inn  the  two  merchants;  so  they,  for 
Luther’s  sake,  insisted  on  making  us  their  guests  at  this 
inn. 

“On  the  Saturday  after,  the  day  before  the  first  Sunday 
in  Lent,  we  went  to  Dr.  Hieronymus  Scliurf  to  deliver  our 
letters  of  introduction.  When  we  were  called  into  the 
room,  lo  and  behold!  there  we  found  the  trooper  Martin 
as  before  at  Jena,  and  with  him  were  Philip  Melancthon, 
Justus  Jonas,  Nicolaus  Amsdorf,  and  Dr.  Augustin  SchuTf, 
who  were  relating  to  him  what  had  happened  at  Witten- 
berg during  his  absence.  He  greeted  us,  and  laughing, 
pointed  with  his  finger  and  said,  ‘This  is  Philip  Melanc- 
thon, of  whom  I spoke  to  you.’  ” 

I have  copied  this  to  begin  to  improve  myself,  that  I 
may  be  a better  companion  for  Conrad,  and  also  because  in 
after  years  I think  we  shall  prize  anything  which  shows 
how  our  Martin  Luther  won  the  hearts  of  strangers,  and 
how,  when  returning  to  Wittenberg  an  excommunicated 
and  outlawed  man,  with  all  the  care  of  the  evangelical  doc- 
trine on  him,  he  had  a heart  at  leisure  for  little  acts  of 
kindness  and  words  of  faithful  counsel. 

What  a blessing  it  is  for  me,  who  can  understand  nothing 
of  the  “ Theologia  Teutsch”  even  in  German,  and  never 
could  have  learned  Latin  like  Eva,  that  Dr.  Luther’s 
sermons  are  so  plain  to  me,  great  and  learned  as  he  is. 
Ohriemhild  and  I always  understood  them,  and  although 
we^  never  could  talk  much  to  others,  at  night  in  our  bed- 
room we  used  to  speak  to  each  other  about  them,  and  say 
how  very  simple  religion  seemed  when  he  spoke  of  it,  just 
to  believe  in  our  blessed  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  died  for 
our  sins,  and  to  love  him  and  to  do  all  we  can  to  make 
every  one  around  us  happier  and  better.  What  a blessing 
for  people  who  are  not  clever,  like  Chriemhild  and  me,  to 
have  been  born  in  days  when  we  are  taught  that  religion  is 
faith  and  love,  instead  of  all  of  those  complicated  rules  and 


THE  SCRONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY . 321 

lofty  supernatural  virtues  which  people  used  to  call  religion. 

And  yet  they  say  faith,  and  love,  and  humility,  are 
more  really  hard  than  all  the  old  penances  and  good  works. 

But  that  must  be,  I think,  to  people  who  have  never 
heard,  as  we  have  from  Dr.  Luther,  so  much  about  God  to 
make  us  love  him;  or  to  people  who  have  more  to  be  proud 
of  than  Chriemhild  and  I,  and  so  find  it  more  difficult  to 
think  little  of  themselves. 

EVA’s  STORY. 

Wittenberg,  October,  1522. 

How  strange  it  seemed  at  first  to  be  moving  freely 
about  in  the  world  once  more,  and  to  come  back  to  the  old 
home  at  Wittenberg!  Very  strange  to  find  the  places  so 
little  changed,  and  the  people  so  much.  The  little  room 
where  Else  and  I used  to  sleep,  with  scarcely  an  article  of 
furniture  altered,  except  that  Thekla’s  books  are  there 
instead  of  Else’s  wooden  crucifix;  and  the  same  view  over 
the  little  garden,  with  its  pear  tree  full  of  white  blossom, 
to  the  Elbe  with  its  bordering  oak  sand  willows,  all  there  in 
their  freshest  delicate  early  green,  while  the  undulations 
of  the  level  land  faded  in  soft  blues  to  the  horizon. 

But,  unlike  the  convent,  all  the  changes  in  the  people 
seemed  to  have  been  wrought  by  the  touch  of  life  rather 
than  by  that  of  death. 

In  Else’s  own  home  across  the  street,  the  ringing  of  those 
sweet  childish  voices,  so  new  to  me,  and  yet  familiar  with 
echoes  of  old  tones  and  looks  of  our  own  well-remembered 
early  days!  And  on  Else  herself  the  change  seemed  only 
such  as  that  which  develops  the  soft  tints  of  spring  into 
the  green  of  shadowing  leaves. 

Christopher  has  grown  from  the  self-assertion  of  boyhood 
into  the  strength  and  protecting  kindness  of  manhood. 
Uncle  Cotta’s  blindness  seems  to  dignify  him  and  make 
him  the  central  object  of  every  one’s  tender,  reverent  care, 
while  his  visions  grow  brighter  in  the  darkness,  and  more 
placid  on  account  of  his  having  no  responsibility  as  to  ful- 
filling them.  He  seems  to  me  a kind  of  hallowing  presence 
in  the  family,  calling  out  every  one’s  sympathy  and  kind- 
ness, and  pathetically  reminding  us  by  his  loss  of  the 
preciousness  of  our  common  mercies. 

On  the  grandmother’s  heart  the  light  is  more  like  dawn 


322 


THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMIL  Y . 


than  sunset,  so  fresh,  and  soft,  and  full  of  hope  her  old  age 
seems.  The  marks  of  fretting,  daily  anxiety  and  care  have 
been  smoothed  from  dear  Aunt  Cotta’s  face;  and  although 
a deep  shadow  rests  there  often  when  she  thinks  of  Fritz, 
I feel  sure  sorrow  is  not  now  to  her  the  shadow  of  a moun- 
tain of  divine  wrath,  but  the  shadow  of  a cloud  which 
brings  blessing  and  hides  light,  which  the  Sun  of  love  drew 
forth,  and  the  Kainbow  of  promise  consecrates. 

Yet  he  has  the  place  of  the  firstborn  in  her  heart. 
With  the  others,  though  not  forgotten,  I think  his  place 
is  partly  filled — but  never  with  her.  Else’s  life  is  very  full. 
Atlantis  never  knew  him  as  the  elder  ones  did ; and  Thekla, 
dearly  as  she  learned  to  love  him  during-  his  little  sojourn 
at  Wittenberg,  has  her  heart  filled  with  the  hopes  of  her 
future,  or  at  times  overwhelmed  with  its  fears.  With  all 
it  almost  seems  he  would  have  in  some  measure  to  make  a 
place  again,  if  he  were  to  return.  But  with  Aunt  Cotta, 
the  blank  is  as  utterly  a blank,  and  a sacred  place  kept  free 
from  all  intrusion,  as  if  it  were  a chamber  of  our  dead, 
kept  jealously  locked  and  untouched  since  the  last  day  he 
stood  living  there.  Yet  he  surely  is  not  dead;  I say  so  to 
myself  and  to  her  when  she  speaks  of  it,  a thousand  times. 
Why,  then,  does  this  hopeless  feeling  creep  over  me  when 
I think  of  him?  It  seems  so  impossible  to  believe  he  ever 
can  be  among  us  any  more.  If  it  would  please  God  only 
to  send  us  some  little  word ! But  since  that  letter  from 
Priest  Buprecht  Haller,  not  a syllable  has  reached  us. 
Two  months  since,  Christopher  went  to  this  priest’s  village 
in  Franconia,  and  lingered  some  days  in  the  neighborhood, 
making  inquiries  in  every  direction  around  the  monastery 
where  he  is.  But  he  could  hear  nothing,  save  that  in  the 
autumn  of  last  year,  the  little  son  of  a neighboring  knight, 
who  was  watching  his  mother’s  geese  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  forest  near  the  convent,  used  to  hear  the  sounds  of  a 
man’s  voice  singing  from  the  window  of  the  tower  where 
the  convent  prison  is.  The  child  used  to  linger  near  the 
spot  to  listen  to  the  songs,  which,  he  said,  were  so  rich  and 
deep — sacred,  like  church  hymns,  but  more  joyful  than 
anything  he  ever  heard  at  church.  He  thought  they  were 
Easter  hymns;  but  since  one  evening  in  last  October  he  has 
never  heard  them,  although  he  has  often  listened.  Nearly 
a year  since  now ! 

Yet  nothing  can  silence  those  resurrection  hymns  in  his 
heart! 


THE  SCHONBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY.  323 

Aunt  Cotta’s  great  comfort  is  the  holy  sacrament. 
Nothing,  she  says,  lifts  up  her  heart  like  that.  Other 
symbols,  or  writings,  or  sermons  bring  before  her,  she  says, 
some  part  of  truth;  but  that  the  Holy  Supper  brings  the 
Lord  himself  before  her;  not  one  truth  about  him,  or  an- 
other, but  himself;  not  one  act  of  his  holy  life  alone,  nor 
even  his  atoning  death,  but  his  very  person,  human  and 
divine;  himself  living,  dying,  conquering  death,  freely 
bestowing  life.  She  has  learned  that  to  attend  that  holy 
sacrament  is  not  as  she  once  thought  to  perform  a good 
work,  which  always  left  her  more  depressed  than  before 
with  the  feeling  how  unworthily  and  coldly  she  had  done 
it;  but  to  look  off  from  self  to  him  who  finished  the  good 
work  of  redemption  for  us.  As  Dr.  Melancthon  says: 

“Just  as  looking  at  the  cross  is  not  the  doing  of  a good 
work,  but  simply  contemplating  a sign  which  recalls  to  us 
the  death  of  Christ; 

“Just  as  looking  at  the  sun  is  not  the  doing  of  a good 
work,  but  simply  contemplating  a sign  which  recalls  to  us 
Christ  and  his  Gospel; 

“So  participating  at  the  Lord’s  supper  is  not  the  doing 
of  a good  work,  but  simply  the  making  use  of  a sign  which 
brings  to  mind  the  grace  that  has  been  bestowed  on  us  by 
Christ.” 

“But  here  lies  the  difference;  symbols  discovered  by  man 
simply  recall  what  they  signify,  whereas  the  signs  given  by 
God  not  only  recall  the  things,  but  further  assure  the 
heart  with  respect  to  the  will  of  God.” 

“As  the  sight  of  a cross  does  not  justify,  so  the  mass 
does  not  justify.  As  the  sight  of  a cross  is  not  a sacrifice, 
either  for  our  sins  or  for  the  sins  of  others,  so  the  mass  is 
not  a sacrifice.” 

“There  is  but  one  sacrifice,  there  is  but  one  satisfaction 
—Jesus  Christ.  Beyond  him  there  is  nothing  of  the  kind.” 

I have  been  trying  constantly-  to  find  a refuge  for  the 
nine  evangelical  nuns  I left  at  Nimptschen,  but  hitherto  in 
vain.  I do  not,  however,  by  any  means  despair.  I have 
advised  them  now  to  write,  themselves,  to  Dr.  Luther. 

October,  1522. 

The  German  New  Testament  is  published  at  last. 

On  September  the  21st  it  appeared;  and  that  day,  hap- 
pening to  be  Aunt  Cotta’s  birthday,  when  she  came  down 


324 


THE  8C HO  NB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


among  us  in  the  morning,  Gottfried  Reichenbach  met  her, 
and  presented  her  with  two  large  folio  volumes  in  which  it 
is  printed,  in  the  name  of  the  whole  family. 

Since  then  one  volume  always  lies  on  a table  in  the  gen- 
eral sitting-room,  and  one  in  the  window  of  Aunt  Cotta’s 
bedroom. 

Often  now  she  comes  down  in  the  morning  with. a beam- 
ing face,  and  tells  us  of  some  verse  she  has  discovered. 
Uncle  Cotta  calls  it  her  diamond-mine,  and  says,  “The 
little  mother  has  found  the  El  Dorado  after  all!” 

One  morning  it  was: 

“Cast  all  your  care  on  him,  for  he  careth  for  you,”  and 
that  lasted  her  many  days. 

To-day  it  was: 

“ Tribulation  worketh  patience;  and  patience,  experience; 
and  experience,  hope;  and  hope  maketh  not  ashamed; 
because  the  love  of  God  is  shed  abroad  in  our  hearts  by  the 
Holy  Ghost,  which  is  given  unto  us.”  “Eva,”  she  said, 
“That  seems  to  me  so  simple.  It  seems  to  me  to  mean, 
that  when  sorrow  comes,  then  the  great  thing  we  have  to 
do  is,  to  see  that  we  do  not  lose  hold  of  patience;  she  seems 
linked  to  all  the  other  graces,  and  to  lead  them  naturally 
into  the  heart,  hand  in  hand,  one  by  one.  Eva,  dear 
child,”  she  added,  “is  that  what  is  meant?” 

I said  how  often  those  words  had  cheered  me,  and  how 
happy  it  is  to  think  that  all  the  while  these  graces  illumin- 
ing the  darkness  of  the  heart,  the  dark  hours  are  passing 
away,  until  all  at  once  hope  steals  to  the  casement  and 
withdraws  the  shutters;  and  the  light  which  has  slowly 
been  dawning  all  the  time,  streams  into  the  heart,  “the 
love  of  God  shed  abroad  by  the  Holy  Ghost.” 

“But,”  rejoined  Aunt  Cotta,  “we  cannot  ourselves  bring 
in  experience,  or  reach  the  hand  of  hope,  or  open  the  win- 
dow to  let  in  the  light  of  love;  we  can  only  look  up  to  God, 
keep  firm  hold  of  patience,  and  she  will  bring  all  the  rest” 

“And  yet,”  I said,  “peace  comes  before  patience,  peace 
with  God  through  faith  in  him  who  was  delivered  for  our 
offense.  All  these  graces  do  not  lead  us  up  to  God.  We 
have  access  to  him  first,  and  in  his  presence  we  learn  the 
rest.” 

Yes,  indeed,  the  changes  in  the  Wittenberg  world  since 
I left  it,  have  been  wrought  by  the  hand  of  life  and  not  by 
that  of  death,  or  time,  which  is  his  shadow.  For  have  not 


THE  SGHONB ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY , 325 

the  brightest  been  wrought  by  the  touch  of  the  Life  him- 
self? 

It  is  God,  not  time,  that  has  mellowed  our  grandmother’s 
character;  it  is  God  and  not  time  that  has  smoothed  the 
careworn  wrinkles  from  Aunt  Cotta’s  brow. 

It  is  life  and  not  death  that  has  all  but  emptied  the 
Augustinian  convent,  sending  the  monks  back  to  their 
places  in  the  world,  to  serve  God  and  proclaim  his  Gospel. 

It  is  the  water  of  life  that  is  flowing  through  home  after 
home  in  the  channel  of  Dr.  Luther’s  German  Testament, 
and  bringing  forth  fruits  of  love,  and  joy,  and  peace. 

And  we  know  it  is  life  and  not  death  which  is  reigning 
in  that  lonely  prison,  wherein  the  child  heard  the  resur- 
rection hymns,  and  that  is  triumphing  now  in  the  heart  of 
him  who  sang  them,  wherever  he  may  be! 

thekla’s  story. 

October,  1522. 

Once  more  the  letters  come  regularly  from  Flanders; 
and  in  most  ways  their  tidings  are  joyful.  Nowhere 
throughout  the  world,  Bertrand  writes,  does  the  evangel- 
ical doctrine  find  such  an  eager  reception  as  there.  The 
people  in  the  great  free  cities  have  been  so  long  accustomed 
to  judge  for  themselves,  and  to  speak  their  mind  freely. 
The  Augustinian  monks  who  studied  at  Wittenberg,  took 
back  the  Gospel  with  them  to  Antwerp,  and  preached  it 
openly  in  their  church,  which  became  so  thronged  with 
eager  hearers,  that  numbers  had  to  listen  outside  the  doors. 
It  is  true,  Bertrand  says,  that  the  prior  and  one  or  two  of 
the  monks  have  been  arrested,  tried  at  Brussels,  and 
silenced;  but  the  rest  continue  undauntedly  to  preach  as 
before,  and  the  effect  of  the  persecution  has  been  only  to 
deepen  the  interest  of  the  citizens. 

The  great  new  event  which  is  occupying  us  all  now, 
however,  is  the  publication  of  Dr.  Luther’s  New  Testa- 
ment. Chriemhild  writes  that  it  is  the  greatest  boon  to 
her,  because  being  afraid  to  trust  herself  to  say  much,  she 
simply  reads,  and  the  peasants  seem  to  understand  that 
book  better  than  anything  she  can  say  about  it;  or  even, 
if  at  any  time  they  come  to  anything  which  perplexes 
them,  they  generally  find  that  by  simply  reading  on  it 
grows  quite  clear.  Also,  she  writes,  Ulrich  reads  it  every 


326  THE  SC  HONE  ERG-GO  TTA  FAMILY. 

evening  to  all  the  servants,  and  it  seems  to  bind  the  house- 
hold together  wonderfully.  They  feel  that  at  last  they 
have  found  something  inestimably  precious,  which  is  yet 
no  “ privilege”  of  man  or  class,  but  the  common  property 
of  all. 

In  many  families  at  Wittenberg  the  book  is  daily  read, 
for  there  are  few  of  those  who  can  read  at  all  who  cannot 
afford  a copy,  since  the  price  is  but  a florin  and  a half. 

New  hymns  also  are  beginning  to  spring  up  among  us. 
We  are  no  more  living  on  the  echo  of  old  songs.  A few 
days  since  a stranger  from  the  north  sang  before  Dr.  Luther’s 
windows,  at  the  Augustinian  convent,  a hymn  beginning: 

“ Es  ist  das  Heil  uns  kommen  her.” 

Dr.  Luther  desired  that  it  might  be  sung  again.  It  was 
a response  from  Prussia  to  the  glad  tidings  which  have 
gone  forth  far  and  wide  through  liis  words!  He  said  “he 
thanked  God  with  a full  heart.” 

The  delight  of  having  Eva  among  us  once  more  is  so 
great.  Her  presence  seems  to  bring  peace  with  it.  It  is 
not  what  she  says  or  does,  but  what  she  is.  It  is  more  like  the 
effect  of  music  than  anything  else  I know.  A quiet  seems  to 
come  over  one’s  heart  from  merely  being  with  her.  No  one 
seems  to  fill  so  little  space,  or  make  so  little  noise  in  the 
world  as  Eva,  when  she  is  there;  and  yet  when  she  is  gone, 
it  is  as  if  the  music  and  the  light  had  passed  from  the 
place.  Everything  about  her  always  seems  so  in  tune. 
Her  soft,  quiet  voice,  her  gentle,  noiseless  movements,  her 
delicate  features,  the  soft  curve  of  her  cheek,  those  deep 
loving  eyes,  of  which  one  never  seems  able  to  remember 
anything  but  that  Eva  herself  looks  through  them  into 
your  heart. 

All  so  different  from  me,  who  can  scarcely  ever  come 
into  a room  without  upsetting  something,  or  disarranging 
some  person,  and  can  never  enter  on  a conversation  without 
upsetting  some  one’s  prejudices,  or  grating  on  some  one’s 
feelings. 

It  seems  to  me  sometimes  as  if  God  did  indeed  lead  Eva, 
as  the  Psalm  says,  by  his  eye;  as  if  he  had  trained  her  to 
what  she  is  by  the  direct  teaching  of  his  gracious  voice, 
instead  of  by  the  rough  training  of  circumstances.  • And 
nevertheless,  she  never  makes  me  feel  her  hopelessly  above 
me.  The  light  is  not  like  a star,  which  makes  one  feel 


THE  SCIIONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


327 


“how  peaceful  it  must  be  there,  in  these  heights,”  but 
brings  little  light  upon  our  pattu  It  is  like  a lowly  sun- 
beam coming  down  among  us,  and  making  us  warm  and 
bright. 

She  always  makes  me  think  of  the  verse  about  the  saint 
who  was  translated  silently  to  heaven,  because  he  had 
“walked  with  God”  Yes,  I am  sure  that  is  her  secret. 

Only  I have  a malicious  feeling  that  I should  like  to  see 
her  for  once  thoroughly  tossed  out  of  her  calm,  just  to  be 
quite  sure  it  is  God’s  peace, and  not  some  natural  or  fairy  gift, 
or  a stoical  impassiveness  from  the  “Theologia  Teutsch.” 
Sometimes  I fancy  for  an  instant  whether  it  is  not 
a little  too  much  with  Eva,  as  if  she  were  “translated” 
already;  as  if  she  had  passed  to  the  other  side  of  the  deepest 
earthly  joy  and  sorrow,  at  least  as  regards  herself.  Cer- 
tainly she  has  not  as  regards  others.  Her  sympathy  is 
indeed  no  condescending  alms,  flung  from  the  other  side 
of  the  flood,  no  pitying  glance  cast  down  on  grief  she  feels, 
but  could  never  share.  Have  I not  seen  her  lip  quiver, 
when  I spoke  of  the  dangers  around  Bertrand,  even  when 
my  voice  was  firm,  and  felt  her  tears  on  my  face  when  she 
drew  me  to  her  heart? 

December,  1522. 

That  question  at  last  is  answered ! I have  seen  Cousin 
Eva  moved  out  of  her  calm,  and  feel  at  last  quite  sure  she 
is  not  “translated”  yet.  Yesterday  evening  we  were  all 
sitting  in  the  family-room.  Our  grandmother  was  dozing 
by  the  stove.  Eva  and  my  mother  were  busy  at  the  table, 
helping  Atlantis  in  preparing  the  dresses  for  her  wedding, 
which  is  to  be  early  in  next  year.  I was  reading  to  my 
father  from  Dr.  Melancthon’s  new  book,  “The  Common 
Places,”  which  all  learned  people  say  is  so  much  more 
elegant  and  beautifully  written  than  Dr.  Luther’s  works, 
but  which  is  to  me  like  a composed  book,  and  not  like  all 
Dr.  Luther’s  writings,  a voice  from  the  depths  of  a heart. 
I was  feeling  like  my  grandmother,  a little  sleepy,  and, 
indeed,  the  whole  atmosphere  around  us  seemed  drowsy 
and  still,  when  our  little  maid,  Lottchen,  opened  the  door 
with  a frightened  expression,  and  before  she  could  say  any- 
thing, a pale,  tall  man  stood  there.  Only  Eva  and  I were 
looking  toward  the  door.  I could  not  think  who  it  was, 
until  a low  startled  voice  exclaimed  “Fritz,”  and  looking 
round  at  Eva,  I saw  she  had  fainted. 


328 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


In  another  instant  he  was  kneeling  beside  her,  lavishing 
every  tender  name  on  her,  while  my  mother  stood  on  the 
other  side,  holding  the  unconscious  form  in  her  arms,  and 
sobbing  out  Fritz’s  name. 

Our  dear  father  stood  up,  asking  bewildered  questions — 
our  grandmother  awoke,  and  rubbing  her  eyes,  surveyed 
the  whole  group  with  a puzzled  expression,  murmuring: 

“ Is  it  a dream  ? Or  are  the  Zwickau  prophets  right  after 
all,  and  is  it  the  resurrection?” 

But  no  one  seemed  to  remember  that  tears  and  endearing 
words  and  bewildered  exclamations  were  not  likely  to 
restore  any  one  from  a fainting  fit,  until  to  my  great  satis- 
faction our  good  motherly  Else  appeared  at  the  door,  say- 
ing, “What  is  it?  Lottchen  ran  over  to  tell  me  she 
thought  there  were  thieves.” 

Then  comprehending  everything  at  a glance,  she  dipped 
a handkerchief  in  water,  and  bathed  Eva’s  brow,  and 
fanned  her  with  it  until  in  a few  minutes  she  awoke  with 
a short  sobbing  breath,  and  in  a little  while  her  eyes 
opened,  and  as  they  rested  on  Fritz,  a look  of  the  most 
perfect  rest  came  over  her  face,  she  placed  her  other  hand 
on  the  one  he  held  already,  and  closed  her  eyes  again.  I 
saw  great  tears  falling  under  the  closed  eyelids.  Then 
looking  up  again  and  seeing  my  mother  bending  over  her, 
she  drew  down  her  hand  and  laid  it  on  Fritz’s,  and  we  left 
those  three  alone  together. 

When  we  were  all  safely  in  the  next  room,  we  all  by  one 
impulse  began  to  weep.  I sobbed : 

“ He  looks  so  dreadfully  ill.  I think  they  have  all  but 
murdered  him.”  And  Else  said: 

“She  has  exactly  the  same  look  on  her  face  that  came 
over  it  when  she  was  recovering  from  the  plague,  and  he 
stood  motionless  beside  her,  with  that  rigid,  hopeless  tran- 
quillity on  his  face,  just  before  he  left  to  be  a ihonk. 
What  will  happen  next?” 

And  my  grandmother  said,  in  a feeble,  broken  voice : 
“He  looks  just  as  your  grandfather  did  when  he  took 
leave  of  me  in  prison.  Indeed,  sometimes  I am  quite  con- 
fused in  mind.  It  seems  as  if  things  were  coming  over 
again.  I can  hardly  make  out  whether  it  is  a dream,  or  a 
ghost,  or  a resurrection.” 

Our  father  only  did  not  join  in  our  tears.  He  said  what 
was  very  much  wiser. 


THE  SCIIONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY. 


329 


“ Children,  the  greatest  joy  our  house  has  known  since 
Fritz  left  has  come  to  it  to-day.  Let  us  give  God  thanks.” 
And  we  all  stood  around  him  while  he  took  the  little  velvet 
capb  from  his  bald  head  and  thanked  God,  while  we  all 
wept  out  our  Amen.  After  that  we  grew  calmer;  the 
overwhelming  tumult  of  feeling,  in  which  we  could  scarcely 
tell  joy  from  sorrow,  passed,  and  we  began  to  understand 
it  was  indeed  a great  joy  which  had  been  given  to  us. 

Then  we  heard  a little  stir  in  the  house,  and  my  mother 
summoned  us  back;  but  we  found  her  alone  with  Fritz, 
and  would  insist  on  his  submitting  to  an  unlimited  amount 
of  family  caresses  and  welcomes. 

“ Come,  Fritz,  and  assure  our  grandmother  that  you  are 
alive,  and  that  you  have  never  been  dead,”  said  Else.  And 
then  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  she  added,  “ What  you  must 
have  suffered ! If  I had  not  remembered  you  before  you 
received  the  tonsure,  I should  scarcely  have  known  you 
now  with  your  dark,  long  beard  and  your  white,  thin  face.” 
“ Yes,”  observed  Atlantis  in  the  deliberate  way  in  which 
she  usually  announces  her  discoveries,  “no  doubt  this  is  the 
reason  why  Eva  recognized  Fritz  before  Thekla  did, 
although  they  were  both  facing  the  door,  and  must  have 
seen  him  at  the  same  time.  She  remembered  him  before 
he  received  the  tonsure.” 

We  all  smiled  a little  at  Atlantis’  discovery,  whereupon 
she  looked  up  with  a bewildered  expression,  and  said,  “ Do 
you  think,  then,  she  did  not  recognize  him?  I did  not 
think  of  that.  Probably,  then,  she  took  him  for  a thief, 
like  Lottchen!” 

Fritz  was  deep  in'  conversation  with  our  mother,  and  was 
not  heeding  us,  but  Else  laughed  softly  as  she  patted 
Atlantis’  hand,  and  said: 

“Conrad  Winkelried  must  have  expressed  himself  very 
plainly,  sister,  before  you  understood  him.” 

“He  did,  sister  Else,”  replied  Atlantis,  gravely.  “But 
what  has  that  to  do  with  Eva?” 

When  I went  up  to  our  room,  Eva’s  and  mine,  I found 
her  kneeling  by  the  bed.  In  a few  minutes  she  rose,  and 
clasping  me  in  her  arms,  she  said: 

“God  is  very  good,  Thekla.  I have  believed  that  so 
long,  but  never  half  enough  until  to-night.” 

I saw  that  she  had  been  weeping,  but  the  old  calm  had 
come  back  to  her  face,  only  with  a little  more  sunshine  on  it, 


330 


THE  SGH 6 NB  ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY. 


Then,  as  if  she  feared  to  be  forgetting  others  in  her  own 
happiness,  she  took  my  hand,  and  said: 

“Dear  Thekla,  He  is  leading  us  all  through  all  the  dark 
days  to  the  morning.  We  must  never  distrust  him  .any 
more. 

And  without  saying  another  word  we  retired  to  rest.  In 
the  morning  when  I woke  Eva  was  sitting  beside  me  with 
a lamp  on  the  table,  and  the  large  Latin  Bible  open  before 
her.  I watched  her  face  for  some  time.  It  looked  so  pure, 
and  good,  and  ffappy,  with  that  expression  on  it  which 
always  helped  me  to  understand  the  meaning  of  the  words, 
“child  of  God,”  “little  children,”  as  Dr.  Melancthon  says 
our  Lord  called  his  disciples  just  before  he  left  them. 
There  was  so  much  of  the  unclouded  trustfulness  of  the 
“child”  in  it,  and  yet  so  much  of  the  peace  and  depth 
which  are  of  God . 

After  looking  at  her  a little  while  she  closed  the  Bible, 
and  began  to  alter  a dress  of  mine  which  she  had  promised 
to  prepare  for  Christmas.  As  she  was  sewing,  she  hummed 
softly,  as  she  was  accustomed,  some  strains  of  old  church 
music.  At  length  I said : 

“Eva,  how  old  were  you  when  Fritz  became  a monk?” 

“Sixteen,”  she  said  softly;  “he  went  away  just  after  the 
plague.” 

“Then  you  have  been  separated  twelve  long  years,”  I 
said.  “God,  then,  sometimes  exercises  patience  a long 
while.” 

“It  does  not  seem  long  now,”  she  said;  “we  both  be- 
lieved we  were  separated  by  God,  and  separated  forever  on 
earth.”  • 

“Poor  Eva,”  I said;  “and  this  was  the  sorrow  which 
helped  to  make  you  so  good.” 

“I  did  not  know  it  had  been  so  great  a sorrow,  Thekla,” 
she  said  with  a quivering  voice,  “until  last  night.” 

“Then  you  had  loved  each  other  all  that  time,”  I said, 
half  to  myself. 

“I  suppose  so,”  she  said  in  a low  voice.  “But  I never 
knew  till  yesterday  how  much.” 

After  a short  silence  she  began  again,  with  a smile. 

“Thekla,  he  thinks  me  unchanged  during  all  those 
years;  me,  the  matron  of  the  novices!  But,  oh,  how  he  is 
changed!  What  a lifetime  of  suffering  on  his  face!  How 
they  must  have  made  him  suffer!” 


THE  SCHON BERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


331 


“ God  gives  it  to  you  as  your  life-work  to  restore  and  help 
him,”  I said.  “Oh  Eva,  it  must  be  the  best  woman’s  lot 
in  the  world  to  bind  up  for  the  dearest  on  earth  the  wounds 
which  men  have  inflicted  because  he  loved  God  best.  It 
must  be  joy  unutterable  to  receive  back  from  God’s  own 
hands  a love  you  have  both  so  dearly  proved  you  were  ready 
to  sacrifice  for  him.” 

“Your  mother  thinks  so  too,”  she  said.  “She  said  last 
night  the  vows  which  would  bind  us  together  would  be 
holier  than  any  ever  uttered  by  saint  or  hermit.” 

“Did  our  mother  say  that?”  I asked. 

“ Yes,”  replied  Eva.  “And  she  said  she  was  sure  Dr. 
Luther  would  think  so  also.” 

fritz’s  story. 

December  31,  1522. 

We  are  betrothed.  Solemnly  in  the  presence  of  our 
family  and  friends  Eva  has  promised  to  be  my  wife;  and 
in  a few  weeks  we  are  to  be  married.  Our  home  (at  all 
events,  at  first)  is  to  be  in  the  Thuringian  forest,  in  the 
parsonage  belonging  to  Ulrich  von  Gersdorf’s  castle.  The 
old  priest  is  too  aged  to  do  anything.  Chriemhild  has  set 
her  heart  on  having  us  to  reform  the  peasantry,  and  they 
all  believe  the  quiet  and  the  pure  air  of  the  forest  will 
restore  my  health,  which  has  been  rather  shattered  by  all  I 
have  gone  through  during  these  last  months,  although  not 
as  much  as  they  think.  I feel  strong  enough  for  anything 
already.  What  I have  lost  during  all  those  years  in  being 
separated  from  her!  How  poor  and  one-sided  my  life  has 
been!  How  strong  the  rest  her  presence  gives  me,  makes 
me  to  do  whatever  work  God  may  give  me! 

Amazing  blasphemy  on  God  to  assert  that  the  order  in 
which  he  has  founded  human  life  is  disorder,  that  the  love 
which  the  Son  of  God  compares  to  the  relation  between 
himself  and  his  church  sullies  or  lowers  the  heart. 

Have  these  years  then  been  lost?  Have  I wandered 
away  willful  and  deluded  from  the  lot  of  blessing  God  had 
appointed  me,  since  that  terrible  time  of  the  plague,  at 
Eisenach?  Have  all  these  been  wasted  years?  Has  all  the 
suffering  been  fruitless,  unnecessary  pain?  And,  after  all, 
do  I return  with  precions  time  lost  and  strength  diminished 
just  to  the  point  I might  have  reached  so  long  ago? 

For  Eva  I am  certain  this  is  not  so;  every  step  of  her 


332 


THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY. 


way,  the  loving  hand  has  led  her.  Did  not  the  convent 
through  her  become  a home  or  a way  to  the  Eternal  Home 
to  many?  But  for  me?  No,  for  me  also  the  years  have 
brought  more  than  they  have  taken  away.  Those  who  are 
to  help  the  perplexed  and  foiling  men  of  their  time,  must 
first  go  down  into  the  conflicts  of  their  time.  Is  it  not  this 
which  makes  even  Martin  Luther  the  teacher  of  our  nation? 
Is  it  not  this  which  qualifies  weak  and  sinful  men  to  be 
preachers  of  the  Gospel  instead  of  angels  from  heaven? 

The  holy  angels  sang  on  their  heavenly  heights  the  glad 
tidings  of  great  joy,  but  the  shepherds,  and  fishermen,  and 
the  publican  spoke  it  in  the  homes  of  men!  The  angel 
who  liberated  the  apostles  from  prison  said,  as  if  spontane- 
ously, from  the  fullness  of  his  heart,  “ Go  speak  to  the  peo- 
ple the  words  of  this  life”  But  the  trembling  lips  of  Peter 
who  had  denied,  and  Thomas  who  had  doubted,  and  John 
who  had  misunderstood,  were  to  speak  the  life-giving 
words  to  men,  denying,  doubting,  misconceiving  men,  to 
tell  what  they  knew,  and  how  the  Saviour  could  forgive. 

The  voice  that  had  been  arrested  in  cowardly  curses  by 
the  look  of  divine  pardoning  love,  had  a tone  in  it  the 
Archangel  Michael’s  could  never  have! 

And  when  the  Pharisees,  hardest  of  all,  were  to  be 
reached,  God  took  a Pharisee  of  the  Pharisees,  a blas- 
phemer, a persecutor,  one  who  could  say,  “I  might  also 
have  confidence  in  the  flesh,  I persecuted  the  church  of 
God.” 

Was  David’s  secret  contest  in  vain,  when  slaying  the  lion 
and  the  bear,  to  defend  those  few  sheep  in  the  wilderness, 
he  proved  the  weapons  with  which  he  slew  Goliath  and 
rescued  the  hosts  of  Israel?  Were  Martin  Luther’s  years 
in  the  convent  at  Erfurt  lost?  Or  have  they  not  been  the 
schooldays  of  his  life,  the  armory  where  his  weapons  were 
forged,  the  gymnasium  in  which  his  eye  and  hand  were 
trained  for  the  battlefield? 

He  has  seen  the  monasteries  from  within;  he  has  felt  the 
monastic  life  from  within.  He  can  say  of  all  these  exter- 
nal rules,  “I  have  proved  them,  and  found  them  powerless 
to  sanctify  the  heart.”  It  is  this  which  gives  the  irresisti- 
ble power  to  his  speaking  and  writing.  It  is  this  which  by 
God’s  grace  enables  him  to  translate  the  Epistles  of  St. 
Paul  the  Pharisee  and  Apostle  as  he  has  done.  The  truths 
had  been  translated  by  the  Holy  Spirit  into  the  language 


THE  SCH ONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY. 


333 


of  his  experience,  and  graven  on  his  heart  long  before;  so 
that  in  rendering  the  Greek  into  German  he  also  testified 
of  things  he  had  seen,  and  the  Bible  from  his  pen  reads  as 
if  it  had  been  originally  written  in  German,  for  the  German 
people. 

To  me  also  in  my  measure  these  years  have  not  been 
time  lost.  There  are  many  truths  that  one  only  learns  in 
their  fullness  by  proving  the  bitter  bondage  of  the  errors 
they  contradict. 

Perhaps  also  we  shall  help  each  other  and  others  around 
us  better  for  having  been  thus  trained  apart.  I used  to 
dream  of  the  joy  of  leading  her  into  life.  But  now  God 
gives  her  back  to  me  enriched  with  all  those  years  of  separate 
experience,  not  as  the  Eva  of  childhood,  when  I saw  her 
last,  but  ripened  to  perfect  womanhood;  not  merely  to 
reflect  my  thoughts,  but  to  blend  the  fullness  of  her  life 
with  mine. 

EVA’S  STORY. 

Wittenberg,  January,  1525. 

How  little  idea  I had  how  the  thought  of  Fritz  was 
interwoven  with  all  my  life!  He  says  he  knew  only  too 
well  how  the  thought  of  me  was  bound  up  with  every  hope 
and  affection  of  his ! 

But  he  contended  against  it  long.  He  said  that  conflict 
was  far  more  agonizing  than  all  he  suffered  in  the  prison 
since.  For  many  years  he  thought  it  sin  to  think  of  me. 
I never  thought  it  sin  to  think  of  him.  I was  sure  it'  was 
not,  whatever  my  confessor  might  say.  Because  I had 
always  thanked  God  more  than  for  anything  else  in  the 
world,  for  all  he  had  been  to  me,  and  had  taught  me,  and 
I felt  so  sure  what  I could  thank  God  for,  could  not  be 
wrong. 

But  now  it  is  duty  to  love  him  best.  Of  that  I am  quite 
sure.  And  certainly  it  is  not  difficult.  My  only  fear  is 
that  he  will  be  disappointed  in  me  when  he  learns  just 
what  I am,  day  by  day,  with  all  the  halo  of  distance  gone. 
And  yet  I am  not  really  afraid.  Love  weaves  better  glories 
than  the  mists  of  distance.  And  we  do  not  expect  miracles 
from  each  other,  or  that  life  is  to  be  paradise.  Only  the 
unutterable  comfort  of  being  side  by  side  in  every  conflict, 
trial,  joy,  and  supporting  each  other!  If  I can  say  “only” 


334 


THE  SCHONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY. 


of  that!  For  I do  believe  our  help  will  be  mutual  Far 
weaker  and  less  wise  as  I am  than  he  is,  with  a range  of 
thought  and  experience  so  much  narrower,  and  a force  of 
purpose  so  much  feebler,  I feel  I have  a kind  of  strength 
which  may  in  some  way,  at  some  times  even  help  Fritz. 
And  it  is  this  which  makes  me  see  the  good  of  these  sepa- 
rated years,  in  which  otherwise  I might  have  lost  so  much. 
With  him  the  whole  world  seems  so  much  larger  and  higher 
to  me,  and  yet  during  these  years,  I do  feel  God  has 
taught  me  something,  and  it  is  a happiness  to  have  a little 
more  to  bring  him  than  I could  have  had  in  my  early  girl- 
hood. 

It  was  for  my  sake,  then,  he  made  that  vow  of  leaving 
us  forever! 

And  Aunt  Cotta  is  so  happy.  On  that  evening  when  he 
returned,  and  we  three  were  left  alone,  she  said,  after  a few 
minutes’  silence: 

“ Children,  let  us  all  kneel  down,  and  thank  God  that  he 
has  given  me  the  desire  of  my  heart.” 

And  afterward  she  told  us  what  she  had  always  wished 
and  planned  for  Fritz  and  me,  and  how  she  had  thought 
his  abandoning  of  the  world  a judgment  for  her  sins;  but 
how  she  was  persuaded  now  that  the  curse  borne  for  us 
was  something  infinitely  more  than  anything  she  could 
have  endured,  and  that  it  had  been  all  borne,  and  nailed  to 
the  bitter  cross,  and  rent  and  blotted  out  forever.  And 
now,  she  said,  she  felt  as  if  the  last  shred  of  evil  were 
gone,  and  her  life  were  beginning  again  in  us — to  be  blessed 
and  a blessing  beyond  her  utmost  dreams. 

Fritz  does  not  like  to  speak  much  of  what  he  suffered 
in  the  prison  of  that  Dominican  convent,  and  least  of  all 
to  me;  because,  although  1 repeat  to  myself,  “It  is  over — 
over  forever!”  whenever  I think  of  his  having  been  on  the 
dreadful  rack,  it  all  seems  present  again. 

He  was  on  the  point  of  escaping  the  very  night  they 
came  and  led  him  in  for  examination  in  the  torture-cham- 
ber. And  after  that,  they  carried  him  back  to  prison,  and 
seem  to  have  left  him  to  die  there.  For  two  days  they 
sent  him  no  food ; but  then  the  young  monk  who  had  first 
spoken  to  him,  and  induced  him  to  come  to  the  convent, 
managed  to  steal  to  him  almost  every  day  with  food  and 
water,  and  loving  words  of  sympathy,  until  his  strength 
revived  a little,  and  they  escaped  together  through  the 
opening  he  had  dug  in  the  wall  before  the  examination. 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


335 


But  their  escape  was  soon  discovered,  and  they  had  to  hide 
in  the  caves  and  recesses  of  the  forest  for  many  weeks 
before  they  could  strike  across  the  country  and  find  their 
way  to  Wittenberg  at  last. 

But  it  is  over  now.  And  yet  not  over.  He  who  suffered 
will  never  forget  the  suffering  faithfully  borne  for  him. 
And  the  prison  at  the  Dominican  convent  will  be  a foun- 
tain of  strength  for  his  preaching  among  the  peasants  in 
the  Thuringian  Forest.  He  will  be  able  to  say,  “ God  can 
sustain  in  all  trials.  He  will  not  suffer  you  to  be  tempted 
above  that  you  are  able  to  bear.  I know  it , for  I have 
proved  it”  And  I think  that  will  help  him  better  to 
translate  the  Bible  to  the  hearts  of  the  poor,  than  even  the 
Greek  and  Hebrew  he  learned  at  Borne  and  Tubingen. 

else’s  story. 

All  our  little  world  is  in  such  a tumult  of  thankfulness 
and  joy  at  present,  that  I think  I am  the  only  sober  person 
left  in  it. 

The  dear  mother  hovers  around  her  two  lost  ones  with 
quiet  murmurs  of  content,  like  a dove  around  her  nest,  and 
is  as  absorbed  as  if  she  were  marrying  her  first  daughter,  or 
were  a bride  herself,  instead  of  being  the  established  and 
honored  grandmother  that  she  is.  Chriemhild  and  I might 
find  it  difficult  not  to  be  envious,  if  we  had  not  our  own 
private  consolations  at  home. 

Eva  and  Fritz  a.re  certainly  far  more  reasonable,  and 
instead  of  regarding  the  whole  world  as  centering  in  them, 
like  our  dear  mother,  appear  to  consider  themselves  made  to 
serve  the  whole  world,  which  is  more  Christian-like,  but 
must  also  have  its  limits.  I cannot  but  feel  it  a great 
blessing  for  them  that  they  have  Chriemhild  and  Ulrich, 
and  more  especially  Gottfried  and  me,  to  look  after  their 
temporal  affairs. 

For  instance,  house  linen.  Eva,  of  course  has  not  ? 
piece;  and  as  to  her  bridal  attire,  I believe  she  would  by 
content  to  be  married  in  a nun’s  robe,  or  in  the  peasant' s 
dress  she  escaped  from  Nimptschen  in.  However,  I have 
stores  which,  as  Gretchen  is  not  likely  to  require  them  just 
yet,  will,  no  doubt,  answer  the  purpose.  Gretchen  is  not 
more  than  eight,  but  I always  think  it  well  to  be  before- 
hand; and  my  maidens  had  already  a stock  of  liner  enough 


336 


THE  SGHONBER G-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


to  stock  several  chests  for  her,  which,  under  the  circum- 
stances, seems  quite  a special  providence. 

Gottfried  insists  upon  choosing  her  wedding  dress.  And 
my  mother  believes  her  own  ancestral  jeweled  headdress 
with  the  pearls  (which  once  in  our  poverty  we  nearly  sold 
to  a merchant  at  Eisenach)  has  been  especially  preserved 
for  Eva. 

It  is  well  that  Atlantis,  who  is  to  be  married  on  the  same 
day,  is  the  meekest  and  most  unselfish  of  brides,  and  that 
her  marriage  outfit  is  already  all  but  arranged. 

Chriemhild  and  Ulrich  have  persuaded  the  old  knight 
to  rebuild  the  parsonage;  and  she  writes  what  a delight  it 
is  to  watch  it  rising  among  the  cottages  in  the  village,  and 
think  of  the  fountain  of  blessing  that  house  will  be  to  all. 

Our  grandmother  insists  on  working  with  her  dear,  feeble 
hands,  on  Eva’s  wedding  stores,  and  has  ransacked  her 
scanty  remnants  of  former  splendor,  and  brought  out  many 
a quaint  old  jewel  from  the  ancient  Schonberg  treasures. 

Christopher  is  secretly  preparing  them  a library  of  all 
Dr.  Luther’s  and  Dr.  Melancthon’s  books,  beautifully 
bound,  and  I do  not  know  how  many  learned  books  besides. 

And  the  melancholy  has  all  passed  from  Fritz’s  face,  or 
only  remains  as  the  depth  of  a river  to  bring  out  the  sparkle 
of  its  ripples.  # 

The  strain  seems  gone  from  Eva’s  heart  and  his.  They 
both  seem  for  the  first  time  all  they  were  meant  to  be. 

Just  now,  however,  another  event  is  almost  equally  fill- 
ing our  grandmother’s  heart. 

A few  days  since,  Christopher  brought  in  two  foreigners 
to  introduce  to  us.  When  she  saw  them,  her  work  dropped 
from  her  hands,  and  half  rising  to  meet  them,  she  said 
some  words  in  a language  strange  to  all  of  us. 

The  countenance  of  the  strangers  brightened  as  she 
spoke,  and  they  replied  in  the  same  language. 

After  a few  minfites’  conversation,  our  grandmother 
turned  .to  us,  and  said: 

“ They  are  Bohemians — they  are  Hussites.  They  know 
my  husband’s  name.  The  truth  he  died  for  is  still  living 
in  my  country.” 

The  rush  of  old  associations  was  too  much  for  her.  Her 
lips  quivered,  the  tears  fell  slowly  over  her  cheeks,  and  she 
could  not  say  another  word. 

The  strangers  consented  to  remain  under  my  father’s 


THE  SGHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 337 

roof  for  the  night,  and  told  ns  the  errand  which  brought 
them  to  Wittenberg. 

From  generation  to  generation,  since  John  Huss  was 
martyred,  they  said,  the  truth  he  taught  had  been  pre- 
served in  Bohemia,  always  at  the  risk,  and  often  at  the  cost 
of  life.  Sometimes  it  had  perplexed  them  much  that 
nowhere  in  the  world  beside  could  they  hear  of  those  who 
believed  the  same  truth.  Could  it  be  possible  that  the 
truth  of  God  was  banished  to  their  mountain  fastnesses? 
Like  Elijah  of  old,  they  felt  disposed  to  cry  in  their  wil- 
derness, “I,  only  I,  am  left.” 

“But  they  could  not  have  been  right  to  think  thus,” 
said  my  mother,  who  never  liked  the  old  religion  to  be  too 
much  reproached.  “ God  has  always  had  his  own  who  have 
loved  him,  in  the  darkest  days.  From  how  many  convent 
cells  have  pious  hearts  looked  up  to  him.  It  requires  great 
teaching  of  the  Holy  Spirit  and  many  battles  to  make  a 
Luther;  but,  I think,  it  requires  only  to  touch  the  hem  of 
Christ’s  garment  to  make  a Christian.” 

“Yes,”  said  Gottfried,  opening  our  beloved  comments  on 
the  Galatians,  “what  Dr.  Luther  said  is  true  indeed,  ‘Some 
there  were  in  the  olden  time  whom  God  called  by  the  text 
of  the  Gospel  and  by  baptism.  These  walked  in  simplicity 
and  humbleness  of  heart,  thinking  the  monks  and  friars, 
and  such  only  as  were  anointed  by  the  bishops,  to  be  reli- 
gious and  holy,  and  themselves  to  be  profane  and  secular, 
and  not  worthy  to  be  compared  to  them.  Wherefore,  they, 
feeling  in  themselves  no  good  works  to  set  against  the 
wrath  and  judgment  of  God,  did  fly  to  the  death  and  pas- 
sion of  Christ,  and  were  saved  in  this  simplicity.’  ” 

“No  doubt  it  was  so,”  said  the  Bohemian  deputies. 
“But  all  this  was  hidden  from  the  eye  of  man.  Twice  our 
fathers  sent  secret  messengers  through  the  length  and 
breadth  of  Christendom,  to  see  if  they  could  find  any  that 
did  understand,  that  did  seek  after  God,  and  everywhere 
they  found  carelessness,  superstition,  darkness,  no  re- 
sponse.” 

“Ah,”  said  my  mother,  “that  is  a search  only  the  eye  <*f 
God  can  make.  Yet,  doubtless,  the  days  were  dark.” 
“They  came  back  without  having  met  with  any  re- 
sponse,” continued  the  strangers,  “and  again  our  fathers 
had  to  toil  and  suffer  on  alone.  And  now  the  sounds  of 
life  have  reached  us  in  our  mountain  solitudes  from  all 


338 


THE  SGHONB ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY . 


parts  of  the  world;  and  we  have  come  to  Wittenberg  to 
hear  the  voice  which  awoke  them  first,  and  to  claim 
brotherhood  with  the  evangelical  Christians  here.  Dr. 
Luther  has  welcomed  us,  and  we  return  to  our  mountains 
to  tell  our  people  that  the  morning  has  dawned  on  the 
world  at  last.” 

The  evening  passed  in  happy  intercourse,  and  before  we 
separated,  Christopher  brought  his  lute,  and  we  all  sang 
together  the  hymn  of  John  Huss,  which  Dr.  Luther  has 
published  among  his  own: 

“ Jesus  Cliristus  nostra  salus,” 

and  afterward  Luther’s  own  glorious  hymn  in  German: 

“Nun  freut  euch  lieben  Christen  gemein.” 

Dear  Christian  people,  all  rejoice, 

Each  soul  with  joy  upspringing; 

Pour  forth  one  song  with  heart  and  voice, 

With  love  and  gladness  singing, 

Give  thanks  to  God,  our  Lord,  above. 

Thanks  for  his  miracle  of  love; 

Dearly  he  hath  redeemed  us! 

The  devil's  captive  bound  I lay. 

Lay  in  death's  chains  forlorn; 

My  sins  distressed  me  night  and  day — 

The  sin  within  me  born; 

I could  not  do  the  thing  1 would, 

In  all  my  life  was  nothing  good, 

Sin  had  possessed  me  wholly. 

My  good  works  could  no  comfort  shed. 

Worthless  must  they  be  rated; 

My  free  will  to  all  good  was  dead, 

And  God’s  just  judgments  hated. 

Me  of  all  hope  my  sins  bereft; 

Nothing  but  death  to  me  was  left, 

And  death  was  hell’s  dark  portal. 

Then  God  saw  with  deep  pity  moved 
My  grief  that  knew  no  measure; 

Pitying  he  saw,  and  freely  loved — 

To  save  me  was  his  pleasure. 

The  Father’s  heart  to  me  was  stirred, 

He  saved  me  with  no  sovereign  word, 

His  very  best  it  cost  him. 

He  spoke  to  his  beloved  Son 
With  infinite  compassion, 


THE  SGHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 


339 


4 4 Go  hence,  my  heart’s  most  precious  crown 
Be  to  the  lost  salvation; 

Death,  his  relentless  tyrant  slay, 

And  bear  him  from  his  sins  away. 

With  thee  to  live  forever.” 

Willing  the  Son  took  that  behest. 

Born  of  a maiden  mother, 

To  his  own  earth  he  came  a guest, 

And  made  himself  my  brother. 

All  secretly  he  went  his  way, 

Veiled  in  my  mortal  flesh  he  lay, 

And  thus  the  foe  he  vanquished. 

He  said  to  me,  44  Cling  close  to  me, 

Thy  sorrows  now  are  ending; 

Freely  I gave  myself  for  thee, 

Thy  life  with  mine  defending; 

For  I am  thine,  and  thou  art  mine, 

And  where  I am  there  thou  shalt  shine. 

The  foe  shall  never  reach  us. 

44  True,  he  will  shed  my  heart’s  life  blood. 

And  torture  me  to  death; 

All  this  I suffer  for  thy  good, 

This  hold  with  firmest  faith. 

Death  dieth  through  my  life  divine; 

I sinless  bear  those  sins  of  thine. 

And  so  shalt  thou  be  rescued. 

“ I rise  again  to  heaven  from  hence. 

High  to  my  Father  soaring, 

Thy  Master  there  to  be,  and  thence, 

My  Spirit  on  thee  pouring; 

In  every  grief  to  comfort  thee, 

And  teach  thee  more  and  more  of  me. 

Into  all  truth  still  guiding. 

44  What  I have  done  and  taught  on  earth 
Do  thou,  and  teach,  none  dreading; 

That  so  God’s  kingdom  may  go  forth, 

And  his  high  praise  be  spreading; 

And  guard  thee  from  the  words  of  men, 

Lest  the  great  joy  be  lost  again; 

Thus  my  last  charge  I leave  thee.” 

Afterward,  at  our  mother’s  especial  desire,  Eva,  and 
Fritz  sang  a Latin  resurrectioh  hymn  from  the  olden  time.* 

* Mundi  renovatio 
Nova  parit  gaudia, 

Resurgente  Domino 
Conresurgunt  omnia; 


340 


THE  SCHONB ERO-COl'TA  FAMILY. 


The  renewal  of  the  world 

Countless  new  joys  bringeth  forth: 

Christ  arising,  all  things  rise — 

Rise  with  him  from  earth. 

All  the  creatures  feel  their  Lord — 

Feel  his  festal  light  outpoured. 

Fire  springs  up  with  motion  free, 

Breezes  wake  up  soft  and  warm; 

Water  flows  abundantly, 

Earth  remaineth  firm. 

All  things  light  now  sky- ward  soar. 

Solid  things  are  rooted  more: 

All  things  are  made  new. 

Ocean  waves,  grown  tranquil,  lie 
Smiling  ’neatli  the  heavens  serene; 

All  the  air  breathes  light  and  fresh; 

Our  valley  groweth  green. 

Verdure  clothes  the  arid  plain, 

Frozen  waters  gush  again 
At  the  touch  of  spring. 

For  the  frost  of  death  is  melted, 

The  prince  of  this  world  lieth  low; 

And  his  empire  strong  among  us, 

All  is  broken  tiow. 

Grasping  Him  in  whom  alone 

He  could  nothing  claim  or  own. 

His  domain  he  lost. 

Paradise  is  now  regained, 

Life  has  vanquished  death; 

And  the  joys  he  long  had  lost, 

Man  recovereth. 

The  cherubim  at  God’s  own  word 

Turn  aside  the  flaming  sword! 

The  long-lost  blessing  is  restored, 

The  closed  way  opened  free.* * 

The  next  morning  the  strangers  left  us;  hut  all  the  day 
our  grandmother  sat  silent  and  tranquil,  with  her  hands 
clasped,  in  an  inactivity  very  unusual  with  her.  In  the 
evening,  when  we  had  assembled  again — as  we  all  do  now 


Elementa  serviunt, 

Et  auctoris  sentiunt, 

Quanta  sint  solemnia, 
etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

The  translation  only  is  given  above. 

*Adam  of  St.  Victor,  twelfth  century 


THE  SCHONB ERG -CO TTA  FAMIL  Y . 


341 


every  day  in  the  old  house — she  said  quietly,  “ Children, 
sing  to  me  the  ‘Nunc  Dimittis.’  God  has  fulfilled  every 
desire  of  my  heart;  and,  if  he  willed  it,  I should  like  to 
depart  in  peace  to  them,  my  dead.  For  I know  they  live 
unto  him.” 

Afterward,  we  fell  into  conversation  about  the  past.  It 
was  the  eve  of  the  wedding-day  of  Eva  and  Fritz,  and 
Atlantis  and  Conrad.  And  we,  a family  united  in  one 
faith,  naturally  spoke  together  of  the  various  ways  in 
which  God  had  led  us  to  the  one  end. 

The  old  days  rose  up  before  me,  when  the  ideal  of  holi- 
ness had  towered  above  my  life,  grim  and  stony,  like  the 
fortress  of  the  Wartburg  (in  which  my  patroness  had  lived), 
above  the  streets  of  Eisenach ; and  when  even  Christ  the 
Lord  seemed  to  me,  as  Dr.  Luther  says,  “ a law-maker  giv- 
ing more  strait  and  heavy  commands  than  Moses  himself” 
— an  irrevocable,  unapproachable  Judge,  enthroned  far  up 
in  the  cold  spaces  of  the  sky;  and  heaven  like  a convent, 
with  very  high  walls,  peopled  by  nuns  rigid  as  Aunt  Agnes. 
And  then  the  change  which  came  over  all  my  heart  when 
I learned,  through  Di;.  Luther’s  teaching,  that  God  is  love 
— is  our  Father;  that  Christ  is  the  Saviour,  who  gave  him- 
self for  our  sins,  and  loved  us  better  than  life;  that  heaven 
is  our  Father’s  house;  that  holiness  is  simply  loving  God 
— who  is  so  good,  and  who  has  so  loved  us,  and,  loving  one 
another,  that  the  service  we  have  to  render  is  simply  to 
give  thanks  and  to  do  good;  when,  as  Dr.  Luther  said, 
that  word  “our”  was  written  deeply  in  my  heart — that  for 
our  sins  He  died — for  mine,  that  for  all,  for  us,  for  me,  He 
gave  himself. 

And  then  Fritz  told  us  how  he  had  toiled  and  tormented 
himself  to  reconcile  God  to  him, ‘until  he  found,  through 
Dr.  Luther’s  teaching,  that  our  sins  have  been  borne  away 
by  the  Lamb  of  God — the  sacrifice  not  of  man’s  gift,  but 
of  God’s;  “that  in  that  one  person,  Jesus  Christ,  we  had 
forgiveness  of  sins  and  eternal  life;”  that  God  is  to  us  as 
the  father  to  the  prodigal  son — entreating  us  to  be  recon- 
ciled to  him.  And  he  told  us  also,  how  he  had  longed  for 
a priest,  who  could  know  infallibly  all  his  heart,  and  secure 
him  from  the  deceitfulness  and  imperfectness  of  his  own 
confessions,  and  assure  him  that,  knowing  all  his  sin  to  its 
depths,  with  all  its  aggravations,  he  yet  pronounced  him 
absolved.  And  at  last  he  had  found  that  Priest,  penetrat- 


342 


THE  SGIIONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


ing  to  the  depths  of  his  heart,  tracing  every  act  to  its 
motive,  every  motive  to  its  source,  and  yet  pronouncing 
him  absolved,  freely,  fully,  at  once — imposing  no  penance, 
but  simply  desiring  a life  of  thanksgiving  in  return.  “ And 
this  Priest,”  he  added,  “is  with  me  always;  I make  my 
confession  to  him  every  evening,  or  oftener,  if  I need  it; 
and  as  often  as  I confess,  He  absolves,  and  bids  me  be  of 
good  courage — go  in  peace,  and  sin  no  more.  But  He  is 
not  on  earth.  He  dwells  in  the  holy  of  holies,  which  never 
more  is  empty,  like  the  solitary  sanctuary  of  the  old  temple 
on  all  days  in  the  year  but  one.  He  ever  liveth  to  make 
intercession  for  us!” 

Then  we  spoke  together  of  the  two  great  facts  Dr. 
Luther  had  unveiled  to  us  from  the  holy  Scriptures,  that 
there  is  one  sacrifice  of  atonement,  the  spotless  Lamb  of 
God,  who  gave  himself  once  for  our  sins;  and  that  there  is 
but  one  priestly  Mediator,  the  Son  of  man  and  Son  of  God; 
that,  in  consequence  of  this,  all  Christians  are  a holy 
priesthood  to  offer  up  spiritual  sacrifices;  and  the  feeblest 
has  his  offering,  which,  through  Jesus  Christ,  God  delights 
to  accept,  having  first  accepted  the  sinner  himself  in  the 
beloved. 

Our  mother  spoke  to  us,  in  a few  words,  of  the  dreadful 
thought  she  had  of  God — picturing  him  rather  as  the 
lightning  than  the  light;  of  the  curse  which  she  feared 
was  lowering  like  a thunder-cloud  over  her  life,  until  Dr. 
Luther  began  to  show  her  that  the  curse  has  been  borne 
for  us  by  Him  who  was  made  a curse  for  us,  and  removed 
forever  from  all  who  trust  in  him.  “And  then,”  she  said, 
“the  Holy  Supper  taught  me  the  rest.  He  bore  for  us  the 
eross;  he  spreads  for  us  the  feast.  We  have,  indeed,  the 
«ross  to  bear,  but  nevermore  the  curse;  the  cross  from 
man,  temptation  from  the  devil,  but  from  God  nothing  but 
blessing.” 

But  Eva  said  she  could  not  remember  the  time  when  she 
did  not  think  God  good  and  kind  beyond  all.  There  were 
many  other  things  in 'religion  which  perplexed  her;  but 
this  had  always  seemed  clear,  that  God  so  loved  the  world, 
he  gave  his  Son.  And  she  had  always  hoped  that  all  the 
rest  would  be  clear  one  day  in  the  light  of  that  love.  The 
joy  which  Dr.  Luther’s  writings  had  brought  her  was,  she 
thought,  like  seeing  the  stains  cleared  away  from  some 
beautiful  painting,  whose  beauty  she  had  known  but  not 


THE  SCIIONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


343 


fully  seen — nr  like  having  a misunderstanding  explained 
about  a dear  friend.  She  had  always  wondered  about  the 
hard  penances  to  appease  One  who  loved  so  much,  and  the 
many  mediators  to  approach  him;  and  it  had  been  an  inex- 
pressible delight  to  tind  that  these  were  all  a mistake,  and 
that  access  to  God  was  indeed  open — that  the  love  and  the 
sin,  and  life  and  death,  had  met  on  the  cross,  and  the  sin 
had  been  blotted  out,  and  death  swallowed  up  of  life. 

In  such  discourse  we  passed  the  eve  of  the  wedding  day. 

And  now  the  day  has  vanished  like  a bright  vision;  our 
little  gentle,  loving  Atlantis  has  gone  with  her  husband  to 
their  distant  home,  the  bridal  crowns  are  laid  aside,  and 
Eva  and  Fritz  in  their  sober  everyday  dress,  but  with  the 
crown  of  unfading  joy  in  their  hearts,  have  gone  together 
to  their  lowly  work  in  the  forest,  to  make  one  more*of 
those  hallowed  pastor’s  homes  which  are  springing  up  now 
in  the  villages  of  our  land. 

But  Gretchen’s  linen-chest  is  likely  to  be  long  before  it 
can  be  stored  again.  We  have  just  received  tidings  of  the 
escape  of  Eva’s  friends,  the  nine  nuns  of  Nimptschen, 
from  the  convent,  at  last!  They  wrote  to  Dr.  Luther, 
who  interested  himself  much  in  seeking  asylums  for  them. 
And  now  Master  Leonard  Koppe  of  Torgau  has  brought 
them  safely  to  Wittenberg  concealed  in  his  beer  wagon. 
They  say  one  of  the  nuns  in  their  haste  left  her  slipper  be- 
hind. They  are  all  to  be  received  into  various  homes,  and 
Gottfried  and  I are  to  have  the  care  of  Catherine  von  Bora, 
the  most  determined  and  courageous,  it  is  said,  of  all,  from 
whose  cell  they  effected  their  escape. 

I have  been  busy  preparing  the  guest-chamber  for  her, 
strewing  lavender  on  the  linen,  and  trying  to  make  it 
home-like  for  the  young  maiden  who  is  banished  for 
Christ’s  sake  from  her  old  home. 

I think  it  must  bring  blessings  to  any  home  to  have  such 
guests. 

June,  1523. 

Our  guest,  the  noble  maiden  Catherine  von  Bora,  has 
arrived.  Grave  and  reserved  she  seems  to  be,  although 
Eva  spoke  of  hef  as  very  cheerful,  and  light  as  well  as  firm 
of  heart.  I feel  a little  afraid  of  her.  Her  carriage  has  a 
kind  of  majesty  about  it  which  makes  me  offer  her  more 
deference  than  sympathy.  Her  eyes  are  dark  and  flashing, 
and  her  forehead  is  high  and  calm. 


344 


THE  SGHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY . 


This  is  not  so  remarkable  in  me  who  was  always  easily 
appalled  by  dignified  persons;  but  even  Dr.  Luther,  it 
seems  to  me,  is  somewhat  awed  by  this  young  maiden.  He 
thinks  her  rather  haughty  and  reserved.  I am  not  sure 
whether  it  is  pride  or  a certain  maidenly  dignity. 

I am  afraid  I have  too  much  of  the  homely  burgher 
Cotta  nature  to  be  quite  at  ease  with  her. 

Our  grandmother  would  doubtless  have  understood  her 
better  than  either  our  gentle  mother  or  I,  but  the  dear 
feeble  form  seems  to  have  been  gradually  failing  since  that 
meeting  with  the  emissaries  of  the  Bohemian  church. 
Since  the  wedding  she  has  not  once  left  her  bed.  She 
seems  to  live  more  than  ever  in  the  past,  and  calls  people 
by  the  names  she  knew  them  by  in  her  early  days,  speaking 
of  our  grandfather  as  “Franz,”  and  calling  our  mother 
“Greta”  instead  of  “the  mother.”  In  the  past  she  seems  to 
live,  and  in  that  glorious  present,  veiled  from  her  view  by 
so  thin  a veil.  Toward  heaven  the  heart,  whose  earthly 
vision  is  closing,  is  as  open  as  ever. 

I sit  beside  her  and  read  the  Bible  and  Dr.  Luther’s 
books,  and  Gretchen  says  to  her  some  of  the  new  German 
hymns,  Dr.  Luther’s,  and  his  translation  of  John  Huss’ 
hymns.  To-day  she  made  me  read  again  and  again  this 
passage:  “Christian  faith  is  notf  as  some  say,  an  empty 
husk  in  the  heart  until  love  shall  quicken  it;  but  if  it  be 
true  faith,  it  is  a sure  trust  and  confidence  in  the  heart 
whereby  Christ  is  apprehended,  so  that  Christ  is  the  object 
of  faith ; yea , rather  even , in  faith  Christ  himself  is  pres- 
ent. Faith  therefore  justifieth  because  it  apprehendeth 
and  possesseth  this  treasure,  Christ  present.  Wherefore 
Christ  apprehended  by  faith,  and  dwelling  in  the  heart,  is 
the  true  Christian  righteousness.” 

It  is  strange  to  sit  in  the  old  house,  now  so  quiet,  with 
our  dear  blind  father  downstairs,  and  only  Thekla  at  home 
of  all  the  sisters,  and  the  light  in  that  brave,  strong  heart 
of  our  grandmother  growing  slowly  dim;  or  to  hear  the 
ringing,  sweet,  childish  voice  of  Gretchen  repeating  the 
hymns  of  this  glorious  new  time  to  the  failing  heart  of  the 
olden  time. 

Last  night,  while  I watched  beside  that  sick  bed,  I 
thought  much  of  Dr.  Luther  alone  in  the  Augustinian 
monastery,  patiently  abiding  in  the  dwelling  his  teaching 
has  emptied,  sending  forth  thence  workers  and  teachers 


THE  SCHOMB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


345 


throughout  the  world ; and  as  I pondered  what  he  has  been 
to  us,  to  Fritz  and  Eva  in  their  lowly,  hallowed  home,  to 
our  mother,  to  our  grandmother,  and  the  Bohemian  people, 
to  little  Gretchen  singing  his  hymns  to  me,  to  the  nine 
rescued  nuns,  to  Aunt  Agnes  in  the  convent,  and  Chris- 
topher at  his  busy  printing-press,  to  young  and  old,  reli- 
gious and  secular;  I wonder  what  the  new  time  will  bring 
to  that  brave,  tender,  warm  heart  which  has  set  so  many 
hearts  which  were  in  bondage  free,  and  made  life  rich  to  so 
many  who  were  poor,  yet  has  left  his  own  life  so  solitary 
still. 

PART  XIX. 

EVA  ’S  STORY. 

Thuringian  Forest,  July,  1522. 

It  is  certainly  very  much  happier  for  Fritz  and  me  to 
live  in  the  pastor’s  house  than  in  the  castle;  down  among 
the  homes  of  men,  and  the  beautiful  mysteries  of  this 
wonderful  forest  land,  instead  of  towering  high  above  all 
on  a fortified  height.  Not  of  course  that  I mean  the  heart 
may  not  be  as  lowly  in  the  castle  as  in  the  cottage;  but  it 
seems  to  me  a richer  and  more  fruitful  life  to  dwell  among 
the  people  than  to  be  raised  above  them.  The  character  of 
the  dwelling  seems  to  symbolize  the  nature  of  the  life. 
And  what  lot  can  be  so  blessed  as  ours? 

Linked  to  all  classes  that  we  may  serve  our  Master  who 
came  to  minister  among  all.  In  education  equal  to  the 
nobles,  or  rather  to  the  patrician  families  of  the  great 
cities,  who  so  far  surpass  the  country  proprietors  in  cul- 
ture, in  circumstances  the  pastor  is  nearer  the  peasant, 
knowing  by  experience  what  are  the  homely  trials  of  strait- 
ened means.  Little  offices  of  kindness  can  be  interchanged 
between  us.  Muhme  Triidchen  finds  a pure  pleasure  in 
bringing  me  a basket  of  her  new-laid  eggs  as  an  acknowl- 
edgment of  Fritz’s  visits  to  her  sick  boy;  and  it  makes  it 
all  the  sweeter  to  carry  food  to  the  family  of  the  old  char- 
coal-burner in  the  forest-clearing  that  our  meals  for  a day 
or  two  have  to  be  a little  plainer  in  consequence.  I think 
gifts  which  come  from  loving  contrivance,  and  a little  self- 
denial,  must  be  more  wholesome  to  receive  than  the  mere 
overflowings  of  a full  store.  And  I am  sure  they  are  far 


346 


THE  SCHONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY . 


sweeter  to  give.  Our  lowly  home  seems  in  some  sense  the 
father’s  house  of  the  village;  and  it  is  such  homes,  such 
hallowed  centers  of  love  and  ministry  which  God  through 
our  Luther  is  giving  back  to  village  after  village  in  our 
land. 

But,  as  Fritz  says,  I must  he  careful  not  to  build  om 
parsonage  into  a pinnacle  higher  than  any  castle,  just  to 
make  a pedestal  for  him,  which  I certainly  sometimes  detect 
myself  doing.  His  gifts  seem  to  me  so  rich,  and  his  char- 
acter is,  I am  sure,  so  noble,  that  it  is  natural  I should 
picture  to  myself  his  vocation  as  the  highest  in  the  world; 
that  it  is  the  highest,  however,  I am  secretly  convinced; 
the  highest  as  long  as  it  is  the  lowliest. 

The  people  begin  to  be  quite  at  home  with  us  now. 
There  are  no  great  gates,  no  moat,  no  heavy  drawbridge 
between  us  and  the  peasants.  Our  doors  stand  open;  and 
timid  hands  which  could  never  knock  to  demand  admit- 
tance at  castle  or  convent  gate  can  venture  gently  to  lift 
our  latch.  Mothers  creep  to  the  kitchen  with  their  sick 
children  to  ask  for  herbs,  lotions,  or  drinks,  which  I learned 
to  distill  in  the  convent.  And  then  I can  ask  them  to  sit 
down,  and  we  often  naturally  begin  to  speak  of  Him  who 
healed  the  sick  people  with  a word,  and  took  the  little 
children  from  the  mother’s  arms  to  his  to  bless  them. 
Sometimes,  too,  stories  of  wrong  and  sorrow  come  out  to 
me  which  no  earthly  balm  can  cure,  and  I can  point  to 
Him  who  only  can  heal  because  he  only  can  forgive. 

Then  Fritz  says  he  can  preach  so  differently  from  know- 
ing the  heart-cares  and  burdens  of  his  flock;  and  the  peo- 
ple seem  to  feel  so  differently  when  they  meet  again  from 
the  pulpit  with  sacred  words  and  histories  which  they  have 
grown  familiar  with  in  the  home. 

A few  of  the  girls  come  to  me  also  to  learn  sewing  or 
Knitting,  and  to  listen  or  learn  to  read  Bible  stories.  Fritz 
meanwhile  instructs  the  boys  in  the  Scriptures  and  in 
sacred  music,  because  the  schoolmaster  is  waxing  old  and 
can  teach  the  children  little  but  a few  Latin  prayers  by 
rote,  and  to  spell  out  the  German  alphabet. 

I could  not  have  imagined  such  ignorance  as  we  have 
found  here.  It  seems,  Fritz  says,  as  if  the  first  preachers 
of  Christianity  to  the  Germans  had  done  very  much  for  the 
heart  of  the  nation  what  the  first  settlers  did  for  its  forests, 
made  a clearing  here  and  there,  built  a church?  and  left  the 
rest  to  its  original  state, 


THE  SCIIONBER G-CO TTA  FAMILY . 


347 


The  bears  and  wolves  which  prowl  about  the  forest,  and 
sometimes  in  winter  venture  close  to  the  thresholds  of  our 
houses,  are  no  milder  than  the  wild  legends  which  haunt 
the  hearts  of  the  peasants.  On  Sundays  they  attire  them- 
selves in  their  holiday  clothes,  come  to  hear  mass,  bow 
before  the  sacred  host,  and  the  crucifix  and  image  of  the 
Virgin,  and  return  to  continue  during  the  week  their 
everyday  terror-worship  of  the  spirits  of  the  forest.  They 
seem  practically  to  think  our  Lord  is  the  God  of  the  church 
and  the  village,  while  the  old  pagan  sprites  retain  posses- 
sion of  the  forest.  They  appear  scarcely  even  quite  to 
have  decided  St.  Christopher’s  question,  “ Which  is  the 
strongest , that  I may  worship  him?” 

But,  alas,  whether  at  church  or  in  the  forest,  the  wor- 
ship they  have  been  taught  seems  to  have  been  chiefly  one 
of  fear.  The  Cobolds  and  various  sprites  they  believe  will 
bewitch  their  cows,  set  fire  to  their  haystacks,  lead  them 
astray  through  the  forest,  steal  their  infants  from  the 
cradle  to  replace  them  by  fairy  changelings.  Their  malig- 
nity and  wrath  they  deprecate,  therefore,  by  leaving  them 
gleanings  of  corn  or  nuts,  by  speaking  of  them  with 
feigned  respect;  or  by  Christian  words  and  prayer,  which 
they  use  as  spells. 

From  the  Almighty  God  they  fear  severer  evil.  He, 
they  think,  is  to  sit  on  the  dreadful  day  of  wrath  on  the 
judgment  throne  to  demand  strict  account  of  all  their  mis- 
deeds. Against  his  wrath  also  they  have  been  taught  to 
use  various  remedies  which  seem  to  us  little  better  than  a 
kind  of  spiritual  spells;  paters,  aves,  penances,  confession, 
indulgences. 

To  protect  them  against  the  forest  sprites  they  have 
secret  recourse  to  certain  gifted  persons,  mostly  shriveled, 
solitary,  weird  old  women  (successors,  Fritz  says,  of  the 
old  pagan  prophetesses),  who  for  money  perform  certain 
rites  of  white  magic  for  them;  or  give  them  written  charms 
to  wear,  or  teach  them  magic  rhymes  to  say. 

To  protect  them  against  God,  they  used  to  have  recourse 
to  the  priest,  who  performed  masses  for  them,  laid  ghosts, 
absolved  sins,  promised  to  turn  aside  the  vengeance  of 
offended  heaven. 

But  in  both  cases  they  seem  to  have  the  melancholy  per- 
suasion that  the  ruling  power  is  hostile  to  them.  In  both 
cases,  religion  is  not  so  much  a worship  as  a spell ; not  an 


348 


THE  SCUONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


approach  to  God,  but  an  interposing  of  something  to  keep 
off  the  weight  of  his  dreaded  presence. 

When  first  we  began  to  understand  this,  it  used  to  cost 
me  many  tears. 

“How  can  it  be,”  I said  one  day  to  Fritz,  “that  all  the 
world  seems  so  Utterly  to  misunderstand  God?” 

“There  is  an  enemy  in  the  world,”  he'said,  solemnly, 
“sowing  lies  about  God  in  every  heart.” 

“Yet  God  is  mightier  than  Satan,”  I said;  “how  is  it 
then  that  no  ray  penetrates  through  the  darkness  from 
fruitful  seasons,  from  the  beauty  of  the  spring  time,  from 
the  abundance  of  the  harvest,  from  the  joys  of  home,  to 
show  the  people  that  God  is  love?” 

“Ah,  Eva,”  he  said  sadly,  “have  you  forgotten  that  not 
only  is  the  devil  in  the  world  but  sin  in  the  heart?  He 
lies,  indeed,  about  God,  when  he  persuades  us  that  God 
grudges  us  blessings;  but  he  tells  the  truth  about  us  when 
he  reminds  us  that  we  are  sinners,  under  the  curse  of  the 
good  and  loving  law.  The  lie  would  not  stand  for  an  instant 
if  it  were  not  founded  on  the  truth.  It  is  only  by  confessing 
the  truth,  on  which  his  falsehood  is  based,  that  we  can 
destroy  it.  We  must  say  to  the  peasants,  ‘Your  fear  is 
wrell  founded.  See  on  that  cross  what  your  sin  cost!’  ” 
“But  the  old  religion  displayed  the  cross,”  I said. 
“Thank  God,  it  did — it  does!”  he  said.  “But,  instead 
of  the  crucifix,  we  have  to  tell  of  a cross  from  which  the 
Grucified  is  gone;  of  an  empty  tomb  and  a risen  Saviour;  of 
the  curse  removed ; of  God,  who  gave  the  Sacrifice,  wel- 
coming back  the  Sufferer  to  the  throne.” 

We  have  not  made  much  change  in  the  outward  cere- 
monies. Only,  instead  of  the  sacrifice  of  the  mass,  we  have 
the  feast  of  the  Holy  Supper;  no  elevation  of  the  host,  no 
saying  of  private  masses  for  the  dead;  and  all  the  prayers, 
thanksgivings,  and  hymns,  in  German. 

Dr.  Luther  still  retains  the  Latin  in  some  of  the  services 
of  Wittenberg,  on  account  of  its  being  a university  town, 
that  the  youth  may  be  trained  in  the  ancient  languages. 
He  said  he  would  gladly  have  some  of  the  services  in  Greek 
and  Hebrew,  in  order  thereby  to  make  the  study  of  those 
languages  as  common  as  that  of  Latin.  But  here  in  the 
forest,  among  the  ignorant  peasants  and  the  knights,  who, 
for  the  most  part,  forget  before  old  age  what  little  learning 
they  acquired  in  boyhood,  Fritz  sees  no  reason  whatever  for 


THE  BGHONBERO-COTTA  FAMILY. 


349 


retaining  the  ancient  language;  and  delightful  it  is  to 
watch  the  faces  of  the  people  when  he  reads  the  Bible  or 
Luther’s  hymns,  now  that  some  of  them  begin  to  understand 
that  the  divine  service  is  something  in  which  their  hearts 
and  minds  are  to  join,  instead  of  a kind  of  magic  external 
rite  to  be  performed  for  them. 

It  is  a great  delight  also  to  us  to  visit  Chriemhild  and 
Ulrich  von  Gersdorf  at  the  castle.  The  old  knight  and 
Dame  Hermentrud  were  very  reserved  with  us  at  first;  but 
the  knight  has  always  been  most  courteous  to  me,  and 
Dame  Hermentrud,  now  that  she  is  convinced  we  had  no 
intention  of  trenching  on  her  state,  receives  us  very  kindly. 

Between  us,  moreover,  there  is  another  tender  bond, 
since  she  has  allowed  herself  to  speak  of  her  sister  Beatrice, 
to  me  known  only  as  the  subdued' and  faded  aged  nun;  to 
Dame  Hermentrud,  and  the  aged  retainers  and  villagers, 
remembered  in  her  bright,  but  early  blighted,  girlhood. 

Again  and  again  I have  to  tell  her  sister  the  story  of  her 
gradual  awakening  from  uncomplaining  hopelessness  to  a 
lowly  and  heavenly  rest  in  Christ;  and  of  her  meek  and 
peaceful  death. 

“ Great  sacrifices,”  she  said  once,  “have  to  be  made  to 
the  honor  of  a noble  lineage,  Frau  Pastorin.  I also  have 
had  my  sorrows;”  and  she  opened  a drawer  of  a cabinet, 
and  showed  me  the  miniature  portraits  of  a nobleman  and 
his  young  boy,  her  husband  and  son,  both  in  armor. 
“These  both  were  slain  in  a feud  with  the  family  to  which 
Beatrice’s  betrothed  belonged,”  she  said  bitterly.  “And 
should  our  lines  ever  be  mingled  in  one?” 

“But  are  these  feuds  never  to  die  out?”  I said. 

“Yes,”  she  replied  sternly,  leading  me  to  a window,  from 
which  we  looked  on  a ruined  castle  in  the  distance.  “ That 
feud  has  died  out.  The  family  is  extinct!” 

“The  Lord  Christ  tells  us  to  forgive  our  enemies,”  I said 
quietly. 

“Undoubtedly,”  she  replied;  “but  the  Yon  Bernsteins 
were  usurpers  of  our  rights,  robbers  and  murderers. 
Such  wrongs  must  be  avenged,  or  society  would  fall  to 
pieces.” 

Toward  the  peasants  Dame  Hermentrud  has  very  conde- 
scending and  kindly  feelings,  and  frequently  gives  us  food 
and  clothing  for  them,  although  she  still  doubts* the  wis- 
dom of  teaching  them  to  read. 


350 


THE  SCHONBEU G -COTTA  FAMILY. 


“ Every  one  should  be  kept  in  his  place,”  she  says. 

And  as  yet  I do  not  think  she  can  form  any  idea  of 
heaven,  except  as  of  a well  organized  community,  in  which 
the  spirits  of  the  nobles  preside  loftily  on  the  heights, 
while  the  spirits  of  the  peasants  keep  meekly  to  the  valleys; 
the  primary  distinction  between  earth  and  heaven  being, 
that  in  heaven  all  will  know  how  to  keep  in  their  places. 

And  no  doubt  in  one  sense  she  is  right.  But  how  would 
she  like  the  order  in  which  places  in  heaven  are  assigned? 

“ The  first  shall  he  last , and  the  last  first. 

“He  that  is  chief  among  you , let  him  he  as  he  that  doth 
serve.  ” 

Among  the  peasants  sometimes,  on  the  other  hand,  Fritz 
is  startled  by  the  bitterness  of  feeling  which  betrays  itself 
against  the  lords;  how  the  wrongs  of  generations  are  treas- 
ured up,  and  the  name  of  Luther  is  chiefly  revered  from  a 
vague  idea  that  he,  the  peasant’s  son,  will  set  the  peasants 
free. 

Ah,  when  will  God’s  order  be  established  in  the  world, 
when  each,  instead  of  struggling  upward  in  selfish  ambi- 
tion, and  pressing  others  down  in  mean  pride — looking  up 
to  envy,  and  looking  down  to  scorn — shall  look  up  to  honor 
and  look  down  to  help!  when  all  shall  “by  love  serve  one 
another?” 

September,  1523.  • 

We  have  now  a guest  of  whom  I scarcely  dare  to  speak 
to  Dame  Hermentrud.  Indeed,  the  whole  history  Fritz 
and  I will  never  tell  to  any  here. 

A few  days  since  a worn,  gray-haired  old  man  came  to 
our  house,  whom  Fritz  welcomed  as  an  old  friend.  It  was 
Priest  Buprecht  Haller,  from  Franconia.  Fritz  had  told 
me  something  of  his  history,  so  that  I knew  what  he  meant, 
when  in  a quivering  voice  he  said,  abruptly,  taking  Fritz 
aside : 

“Bertha  is  very  ill — perhaps  dying.  I must  never  see 
her  any  more.  She  will  not  suffer  it,  I know.  Can  you  go 
and  speak  a few  words  of  comfort  to  her?” 

Fritz  expressed  his  readiness  to  do  anything  in  hi§  power, 
and  it  was  agreed  that  Priest  Kuprecht  was  to  stay  with  us 
that  night,  and  that  they  were  to  start  together  on  the 
morrow  for  the  farm  where  Bertha  was  at  service,  which 
lay  not  many  miles  off  through  the  forest. 


THE  SCIJONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


351 


But  in  the  night  I had  a thought,  which  I determined 
to  set  going  before  I mentioned  it  to  Fritz,  because  he  will 
often  consent  to  a thing  which  is  once  begun,  which  he 
would  think  quite  impracticable  if  it  is  only  proposed;  that 
is,  especially  as  regards  anything  in  which  I am  involved. 
Accordingly,  the  next  morning  I rose  very  early  and  went 
to  our  neighbor,  Farmer  Herder,  to  ask  him  to  lend  us  his 
old  gray  pony  for  the  day,  to  bring  home  an  invalid.  He 
consented,  and  before  we  had  finished  breakfast  the  pony 
was  at  the  door. 

“What  is  this?”  said  Fritz. 

“It  is  Farmer  Herder’s  pony  to  take  me  to  the  farm 
where  Bertha  lives,  and  to  bring  her  back,”  I said. 

“Impossible,  my  love,”  said  Fritz. 

“But  you  see  it  is  already  all  arranged,  and  begun  to  be 
done,”  I said;  “I  am  dressed,  and  the  room  is  all  ready  to 
receive  her.” 

Priest  Ruprecht  rose  from  the  table,  and  moved  toward 
me,  exclaiming  fervently,  “God  bless  you!”  Then  seem- 
ing to  fear  that  he  had  said  what  he  had  no  right  to  say, 
he  added,  “God  bless  you  for  the  thought.  But  it  is  too 
much!”  and  he  left  the  room. 

“What  would  you  do,  Eva?”  Fritz  said,  looking  in 
much  perplexity  at  me. 

“Welcome  Bertha  as  a sister,”  I said,  “and  nurse  her 
until  she  is  well.” 

“But  how  can  I suffer  you  to  be  under  one  roof?”  he 
said. 

I could  not  help  my  eyes  filling  with  tears. 

“The  Lord  Jesus  suffered  such  to  anoint  his  feet,”  I 
said,  “and  she,  you  told  me,  loves  him,  has  given  up  all 
dearest  to  her  to  keep  his  words.  Let  us  blot  out  the  past 
as  he  does,  and  let  her  begin  life  again  from  our  home,  if 
God  wills  it  so.” 

Fritz  made  no  further  objection.  And  through  the 
dewy  forest  paths  we  went,  we  three;  and  with  us,  I think 
we  all  felt,  went  Another,  invisible,  the  Good  Shepherd  of 
the  wandering  sheep. 

Never  did  the  green  glades  and  forest  flowers  and  solemn 
pines  seem  to  me  more  fresh  and  beautiful,  and  more  like 
a holy  cathedral  than  that  morning. 

After  a little  meek  resistance  Bertha  came  back  with 
Frit?  md  hie.  Her  sickness  seemed  to  me  to  be  more  the 


352  - THE  SCHONB ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY. 

decline  of  one  for  whom  life’s  hopes  and  work  are  over, 
than  any  positive  disease.  And  with  care,  the  gray  pony 
brought  her  safely  home. 

Never  did  our  dear  home  seem  to  welcome  us  so  brightly 
as  when  we  led  her  back  to  it,  for  whom  it  was  to  be  a 
sanctuary  of  rest,  and  refuge  from  bitter  tongues. 

There  was  a little  room  over  the  porch  which  we  had  set 
apart  as  the  guest-chamber;  and  very  sweet  it  was  to  me 
that  Bertha  should  be  its  first  inmate;  very  sweet  to  Fritz 
and  me  that  our  home  should  be  what  our  Lord’s  heart  is, 
a refuge  for  the  outcast,  the  penitent,  the  solitary,  and  the 
sorrowful. 

Such  a look  of  rest  came  over  her  poor,  worn  face,  when 
at  last  she  was  laid  on  her  little  bed! 

“ I think  I shall  get  well  soon,”  she  said  the  next  morn- 
ing, “and  then  you  will  let  me  stay  and  be  your  servant; 
when  I am  strong  I can  work  really  hard,  and  there  is 
something  in  you  both  which  makes  me  feel  this  like  home.” 

“We  will  try,”  I said,  “to  find  out  what  God  would  have 
us  do.” 

She  does  improve  daily.  Yesterday  she  asked  for  some 
spinning,  or  other  work  to  do,  and  it  seems  to  cheer  her 
wonderfully.  To-day  she  has  been  sitting  in  our  dwelling- 
room  with  her  spinning-wheel.  I introduced  her  to  the 
villagers  who  come’  in  as  a friend  who  has  been  very  ill. 
They  do  not  know  her  history. 

, January,  1524. 

It  is  all  accomplished  now.  The  little  guest-chamber 
over  the  porch  is  empty  again,  and  Bertha  is  gone. 

As  she  was  recovering  Fritz  received  a letter  from  Priest 
Euprecht,  which  he  read  in  silence,  and  then  laid  aside 
until  we  were  alone  on  one  of  our  expeditions  to  the  old 
charcoal-burner’s  in  the  forest. 

“Haller  wants  to  see  Bertha  once  more,”  he  said,  dubi- 
ously. 

“And  why  not,  Fritz?”  I said;  “why  should  not  the 
old  wrong  as  far  as  possible  be  repaired,  and  those  who 
have  given  each  other  up  at  God’s  commandment,  be 
given  back  to  each  other  by  his  commandment?” 

“I  have  thought  so  often,  my  love,”  he  said,  “but  I did 
not  know  what  you  would  think.” 

So  after  some  little  difficulty  and  delay,  Bertha  and 


THE  SCIIONB ERG-COTTA  TAMIL  7.  353 

Priest  Ruprecht  Haller  were  married  very  quietly  in  our 
village  church,  and  went  forth  to  a distant  village  in 
Pomerania,  by  the  Baltic  Sea,  from  which  Dr.  Luther  had 
received  a request  to  send  them  a minister  of  the  Gospel. 

It  went  to  my  heart  to  see  the  two  go  forth  together 
down  the  village  street,  those  two  whose  youth  inhuman 
laws  and  human  weakness  had  so  blighted.  There  was  a 
reverence  about  his  tenderness  to  her,  and  a wistful  lowliness' 
in  hers  for  him,  which  said,  “All  that  thou  hast  lost  for 
me,  as  far  as  may  be  I will  make  up  to  thee  in  the  years 
that  remain  !’\ 

But  as  we  watched  her  pale  face  and  feeble  steps,  and  his 
bent,  though  still  vigorous  form,  Fritz  took  my  hands  as 
we  turned  back  into  the  house,  and  said : 

“It  is  well.  But  it  can  hardly  be  for  long!” 

And  I could  not  answer  him  for  tears. 

else’s  btory. 

Wittenberg,  August,  1524. 

The  slow  lingering  months  of  decline  are  over.  Yes- 
terday our  grandmother  died.  As  I look  for  the  last  time 
on  the  face  that  had  smiled  on  me  from  childhood,  the 
hands  which  rendered  so  many  little  loving  services  to  me, 
none  of  which  can  evermore  be  returned  to  her,  what  a 
sacred  tenderness  is  thrown  over  all  recollection  of  her,  how 
each  little  act  of  thoughtful  consideration  and  self-denial 
rushes  back  on  the  heart,  what  love  I can  see  glowing 
through  the  anxious  care  which  sometimes  made  her  a 
little  querulous,  especially  with  my  father,  although  never 
lately. 

Can  life  ever  be  quite  the  same  again?  Can  we  ever  for- 
get to  bear  tenderly  with  little  infirmities  such  as  those  of 
hers,  which  seem  so  blameless  now.,  or  to  prize  with  a 
thankfulness  which  would  flood  with  sunshine  our  little 
cares,  the  love  which  must  one  day  be  silent  to  us  as  she  is 
now? 

Her  death  seems  to  age  us  all  into  another  generation! 
She  lived  from  the  middle  of  the  old  world  into  the  full 
morning  of  the  new;  and  a whole  age  of  the  past  seems  to 
die  with  her.  But  after  seeing  those  Bohemian  deputies 
and  knowing  that  Fritz  and  Eva  were  married,  she  ceased 
to  wish  to  live.  She  had  lived,  she  said,  through  two 


354 


THE  SCHO NB ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY . 


mornings  of  time  on  earth,  and  now  she  longed  for  the 
daybreak  of  heaven. 

But  yesterday  morning,  one  of  us;  and  now  one  of  the 
heavenly  host!  Yesterday  we  knew  every  thought  of  her 
heart,  every  detail  of  her  life,  and  now  she  is  removed  into 
a sphere  of  which  we  know  less  than  of  the  daily  life  of  the 
most  ancient  of  the  patriarchs.  As  Dr.  Luther  says,  an 
infant  on  its  mother’s  breast  has  as  much  understanding  of 
the  life  before  it,  as  we  of  the  life  before  us  after  death. 
“ Yet,”  he  saith  also,  “since  God  hath  made  his  world  of 
earth  and  sky  so  fair,  how  much  fairer  that  imperishable 
world  beyond !” 

All  seems  to  me  clear  and  bright  after  the  resurrection; 
but  note?  where  is  that  spirit  now,  so  familiar  to  us  and  so 
dear,  and  now  so  utterly  separated? 

Dr.  Luther  said,  “A  Christian  should  say,  I know  that 
it  is  thus  1 shall  journey  hence;  when  my  soul  goes  forth 
charge  is  given  to  God’s  kings  and  high  princes,  who  are 
the  dear  angels,  to  receive  me  and  convoy  me  safely  home.” 
“The  holy  Scriptures,”  he  writes,  “teach  nothing  of  pur- 
gatory, but  tell  /us  that  the  spirits  of  the  just  enjoy  the 
sweetest  and  most  delightful  peace  and  rest.  How  they 
lived  there,  indeed,  we  know  not,  or  what  the  place  is 
where  they  dwell.  But  this  we  know  assuredly;  they  are 
in  no  grief  or  pain,  but  rest  in  the  grace  of  God.  As  in 
this  life  they  were  wont  to  fall  softly  asleep  in  the  guard 
and  keeping  of  God  and  the  dear  angels,  without  fear  of 
harm,  although  the  devils  might  prowl  around  them;  so 
after  this  life  do  they  repose  in  the  hand  of  God.” 

“ To  depart  and  be  with  Christ  is  far  better .” 

“ To-day  in  paradise  with  me .” 

“ Absent  from  the  body , at  home  with  the  Lord” 
Everything  for  our  peace  and  comfort  concerning  those 
who  are  pure  depends  on  what  those  words  “ with  me”  were 
to  them  and  are  to  us.  Where  and  how  they  live,  indeed, 
we  know  not;  with  whom  we  know.  The  more  then,  oh, 
our  Saviour  and  theirs,  we  know  of  thee,  the  more  we 
know  of  them.  With  thee,  indeed,  the  waiting  time  be- 
fore the  resurrection  can  be  no  cold  drear  antechamber  of 
the  palace.  Where  thou  art,  must  be  light,  love,  and 
home. 

Precious  as  Dr.  Luther’s  own  words  are,  what  are  they  at 
a time  like  this,  compared  with  the  Word  of  God  he  has 
unveiled  to  us? 


THE  SCHONBEHG-COTTA  FAMILY.  355 

My  mother,  however,  is  greatly  cheered  by  these  words 
of  his,  “Our  Lord  and  Saviour  grant  us  joyfully  to  see 
each  other  again  hereafter.  For  our  faith  is  sure,  and  we 
doubt  not  that  we  shall  see  each  other  again  with  Christ  in 
a little  while;  since  the  departure  from  this  life  to  be  with 
Christ  is  less,  in  God’s  sight,  than  if  I go  from  you  to 
Mansfeld,  or  you  took  leave  of  me  to  go  from  Wittenberg 
to  Mansfeld.  This  is  assuredly  true.  A brief  hour  of 
sleep  and  all  will  be  changed.” 

Wittenberg,  September,  1524. 

During  this  month  we  have  been  able  often  to  give 
thanks  that  the  beloved  feeble  form  is  at  rest.  The  times 
seem  very  troublous.  Dr.  Luther  thinks  most  seriously 
of  them.  Humors  have  reached  us  for  some  time  of  an 
uneasy  feeling  among  the  peasantry.  Fritz  wrote  about 
it  from  the  Thuringian  Forest.  The  peasants,  as  our  good 
elector  said  lately,  have  suffered  many  wrongs  from  their 
lords;  and  Fritz  says  they  had  formed  the  wildest  hopes  of 
better  days  from  Dr.  Luther  and  his  words.  They  thought 
the  days  of  freedom  had  come.  And  bitter  and  hard  it  is 
for  them  to  learn  that  the  Gospel  brings  freedom  now  as 
of  old  by  giving  strength  to  suffer,  instead  of  by  suddenly 
redressing  wrong.  The  fanatics,  moreover,  have  been 
among  them.  The  Zwickau  prophets  and  Thomas  Miinzer 
(silenced  last  year  at  Wittenberg  by  Luther’s  return  from 
the  Wartburg),  have  promised  them  all  they  actually  ex- 
pected from  Luther.  Once  more,  they  say,  God  is  sending 
inspired  men  on  earth,  to  introduce  a new  order  of  things, 
no  more  to  teach  the  saints  how^  to  bow,  suffer,  and  be 
patient;  but  how  to  fight  and  avenge  themselves  of  their 
adversaries,  and  to  reign. 

October,  1524. 

Now,  alas,  the  peasants  are  in  open  revolt,  rushing 
through  the  land  by  tens  of  thousands.  The  insurrection 
began  in  the  Black  Forest,  and  now  it  sweeps  throughout 
the  land,  gathering  strength  as  it  advances,  and  bearing 
everything  before  it  by  the  mere  force  of  numbers  and 
movement.  City  after  city  yields  and  admits  them,  and 
swears  to  their  Twelve  Articles,  which  in  themselves  they 
say  are  not  so  bad,  if  only  they  were  enforced  by  better 
means.  Castle  after  castle  is  assailed  and  falls.  Ulrich 
writes  in  burning  indignation  at  the  cruel  deaths  they  have 


356 


THE  SC IIONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


inflicted  on  noble  men  and  women,  and  on  their  pillaging 
the  convents.  Fritz,  on  the  other  hand,  writes  entreating 
ns  not  to  forget  the  long  catalogue  of  legalized  wrongs 
which  had  led  to  this  moment  of  fierce  and  lawless 
vengeance. 

Dr.  Luther,  sympathizing  with  the  peasants  by  birth, 
and  by  virtue  of  his  own  quick  and  generous  indignation 
at  injustice,  while  with  a prophet’s  plainness  he  blames  the 
nobles  for  their  exactions  and  tyranny,  yet  sternly  demands 
the  suppression  of  the  revolt  with  the  sword.  He  says  this 
is  essential,  if  it  were  only  to  free  the  honest  and  well- 
meaning  peasantry  from  the  tyranny  of  the  ambitious  and 
turbulent  men  who  compel  them  to  join  their  banner,  on 
pain  of  death.  With  a heart  that  bleeds  at  every  severity, 
he  counsels  the  severest  measures  as  the  most  merciful. 
More  than  once  he  and  others  of  the  Wittenberg  doctors 
have  succeeded  in  quieting  and  dispersing  riotous  bands  of 
the  peasants  assembled  by  tens  of  thousands,  with  a few 
calm  and  earnest  words.  But  bitter,  indeed,  are  these 
times  to  him.  The  peasants  whom  he  pities  and  because 
he  pities  condemns,  call  out  that  he  has  betrayed  them, 
and  threaten  his  life.  The  prelates  and  princes  of  the  old 
religion  declare  all  this  disorder  and  pillage  are  only  the 
natural  consequences^  of  his  false  doctrine.  But  between 
them  both  he  goes  steadfastly  forward  speaking"  faithful 
words  to  all.  More  and  more,  however,  as  terrible  rumors 
reach  us  of  torture,  and  murder,  and  wild  pillage,  he 
seems  to  become  convinced  that  mercy  and  vigor  are  on 
the  same  side.  And  now,  he  whose  journey  through  Ger- 
many not  three  years  since  was  a triumphal  procession,  has 
to  ride  secretly  from  place  to  place  on  his  errands  of  peace- 
making, in  danger  of  being  put  to  death  by  the  people  if 
he  were  discovered ! 

My  heart  aches  for  these  peasants.  These  are  not  the 
Pharisees  who  were  “ not  blind”  but  understood  only  too 
well  what  they  rejected.  They  are  the  “multitudes,”  the 
common  people,  who  as  of  old  heard  the  voice  of  love  and 
truth  gladly;  for  whom  dying  He  pleaded,  “They  know 
not  what  they  do.” 

April,  1525. 

The  tide  has  turned.  The  army  of  the  empire,  under 
Truchsess,  is  out.  Philip  of  Hesse,  after  quieting  his  own 
dominions,  is  corns  to  Saxony  to  suppress  the  revolt  here. 


THE  SCHON BERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


357 


Our ’own  gentle  and  merciful  elector,  who  so  reluctantly 
drew  the  sword,  is,  they  say,  dying.  The  world  is  full  of 
change ! 

Meantime,  in  our  little  Wittenberg  world,  changes  are  in 
prospect.  It  seems  probable  that  Dr.  Luther,  after  settling 
the  other  eight  nuns,  and  endeavoring  also  to  find  a home 
for  Catherine  von  Bora,  will  espouse  her  himself.  A few 
months  since,  he  tried  to  persuade  her  to  marry:  Glatz, 
pastor  of  Orlamund,  but  she  refused.  And  now  it  seems 
certain  that  the  solitary  Augustinian  convent  will  become 
a home,  and  that  she  will  make  it  so. 

Gottfried  and  I cannot  but  rejoice.  In  this  world  of 
tumult  and  unrest,  it  seems  so  needful  that  that  warm, 
earnest  heart  should  have  one  place  where  it  can  rest,  one 
heart  that  will  understand  and  be  true  to  him  if  all  else 
should  become  estranged,  as  so  many  have.  And  this,  we 
trust,  Catherine  von  Bora  will  be  to  him. 

Beserved,  and  with  an  innate  dignity,  which  will  befit 
the  wife  of  him  whom  God  has  called  in  so  many  ways  to 
be  the  leader  of  the  hearts^of  men,  she  has  a spirit  which 
will  prevent  her  sinking  into  the  mere  reflection  of  that 
resolute  character,  and  a cheerfulness  and  womanly  tact 
which  will,  we  hope,  sustain  him  through  many  a depress- 
ing  hour,  such  as  those  who  wear  earth’s  crowns  of  any 
kind  must  know. 

'December,  1525. 

This  year  has,  indeed,  been  a year  of  changes.  The 
peasant  revolt  is  crushed.  At  Frankenhausen,  the  last 
great  victory  was  gained.  Thomas  Munzer  was  slain,  and 
his  undisciplined  hosts  fled  in  hopeless  confusion.  The 
revolt  is  crushed,  alas!  Gottfried  says,  as  men  crush  their 
enemies  when  once  in  their  power,  exceeding  the  crime  in 
the  punishment,  and  laying  up  a store  of  future  revolt  and 
Vengeance  for  future  generations. 

The  good  and  wise  Elector  Friedrich  died  just  before  the 
victory.  It  is  well,  perhaps,  that  he  did  not  live  to  see 
the  terrible  vengeance  that  has  been  inflicted,  the  road- 
sides lined  with  gibbets,  torture  returned  by  torture, 
insult  by  cruel  mocking.  The  poor  deluded  people,  espe- 
cially the  peasantry,  wept  for  the  good  elector,  and  said, 
“Ah,  God,  have  mercy  on  us!  We  have  lost  our  father!” 
He  used  to  speak  kindly  to  their  children  in  the  fields,  and 


358 


THE  SCIIONBE RG-GO TTA  FAMILY. 


was  always  ready  to  listen  to  a tale  of  wrong.  He  died 
humbly  as  a Christian;  he  was  buried  royally  as  a prince. 

Shortly  before  his  death,  his  chaplain,  Spalatin,  came  to 
see  him.  The  elector  gave  him  his  hand,  and  said,  “You 
do  well  to  come  to  me.  We  are  commanded  to  visit  the 
sick.” 

Neither  brother  nor  any  near  relative  was  with  him  when- 
he  died.  The  services  of  all  brave  men  were  needed  in 
those  stormy  days.  But  he  was  not  forsaken.  To  the 
childless,  solitary  sufferer,  his  faithful  servants  were  like  a 
family. 

“Oh,  dear  children,”  he  said,  “I  suffer  greatly!”' 

Then  Joachim  Sack,  one  of  his  household,  a Silesian, 
said : 

“Most  gracious  master,  if  God  will,  you  will  soon  be 
better.” 

Shortly  after,  the  dying  prince  said: 

“Dear  children,  I am  ill  indeed.” 

And  Sack  answered : 

“Gracious  lord,  the  Almighty  God  sends  you  all  this 
with  a Father’s  love,  and  with  the  best  will  to  you.” 

Then  the  prince  repeated  softly,  in  Latin,  the  words  of 
Job,  “The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away; 
blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord.” 

And  once  more  he  said : 

“Dear  children,  I am  very  ill.” 

And  the  faithful  Joachim  comforted  him  again,  “The 
gracious  Master,  the  Almighty  God,  sends  it  all  to  your 
electoral  highness  from  the  greatest  love.” 

The  prince  clasped  his  hands,  and  said : 

“For  that  I can  trust  my  good  God!”  and  added,  “Help 
me,  help  me,  oh  my  God.” 

And  after  receiving  the  holy  communion  in  both  kinds, 
he  called  his  servants  around  him,  and  said: 

“Dear  children,  I entreat  you,  that  in  whatever  I have 
done  you  wrong,  by  word  or  deed,  you  will  forgive  me  for 
God’s  sake,  and  pray  others  to  do  the  same.  For  we 
princes  do  much  wrong  often  to  poor  people  that  should 
not  be.” 

As  he  spoke  thus,  all  that  were  in  the  room  could  not 
restrain  their  tears,  and  seeing  that,  he  said: 

“Dear  children,  weep  not  for  me.  It  will  not  be  long 
with  me  now.  But  think  of  me,  and  pray  to  God  for  me.” 


THE  SGIIONB  Eli  G-00  TTA  FAMILY. 


359 


Spalatin  had  copied  some  verses  of  the  Bible  for  him, 
which  he  put  on  his  spectacles  to  read  for  himself.  He 
thought  much  of  Luther,  whom,  much  as  he  had  befriended 
him,  he  had  never  spoken  to,  and  sent  for  him.  But  it 
was  in  vain.  Luther  was  on  the  Hartz  mountains,  endeav- 
oring to  quell  the  peasants’  revolt.  That  interview  is 
deferred  to  the  world  where  all  earthly  distinctions  are 
forgotten,  but  where  the  least  Christian  services  are 
remembered. 

So,  “a  child  of  peace,”  as  one  said,  “he  departed,  and 
rests  in  peace,  through  the  high  and  only  merits  of  the  only 
Son  of  God,”  in  whom,  in  his  last  testament,  he  confessed 
was  “all  his  hope.” 

It  was  a solemn  day  for  Wittenberg  when  they  laid  him 
in  his  grave  in  the  electoral  church,  which  he  had  once  so 
richly  provided  with  relics.  His  body  lying  beneath  it  is 
the  most  sacred  relic  it  enshrines  for  us  now. 

Knights  and  burghers  met  the  coffin  at  the  city  gate; 
eight  noblemen  carried  it,  and  a long  train  of  mourners 
passed  through  the  silent  streets.  Many  chanted  around 
the  tomb  the  old  Latin  hymns,  “In  media  vitae ,”  and 
“ Si  Iona  suscipimur ,”  and  also  the  German,  “ From  deepest 
need  I cry  to  Thee,”  and: 

“ In  Fried  und  Freud  falir  icli  dakin,” 

“ I journey  hence  in  peace  and  joy.” 

The  money  which  would,  in  former  times,  have  purchased 
masses  for  his  soul,  was  given  to  the  poor.  And  Dr. 
Luther  preached  a sermon  on  the  promise,  “Those  who 
sleep  in  Jesus,  God  will  bring  with  him,”  which  makes  it 
needless,  indeed,  to  pray  for  the  repose  of  those  who  thus 
sleep. 

Gretchen  asked  me  in  the  evening  what  the  hymn  meant: 

“ I journey  hence  in  peace  and  joy;” 

I told  her  it  was  the  soul  of  the  prince  that  thus  journeyed 
hence. 

“The  procession  was  so  dark  and  sad,”  she  said,  “the 
words  did  not  seem  to  suit.” 

. “That  procession  was  going  to  the  grave,”  said  Thekla, 
who  was  with  us.  “ There  was  another  procession,  which 
we  could  not  see,  going  to  heaven.  The  holy  angels, 
clothed  in  radiant  white,  were  carrying  the  happy  spirit  to 


860 


THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMILY . 


heaven,  and  singing,  as  they  went,  anthems  such  as  that, 
while  we  were  weeping  here.” 

“ I should  like  to  see  that  procession  of  the  dear  angels, 
Aunt  Thekla,”  said  Gretchen.  “Mother  says  the  good 
elector  had  no  little  children  to  love  him,  and  no  one  to 
call  him  any  tenderer  name  than  ‘Your  electoral  highness’ 
when  he  died.  But  on  the  other  side  of  the  grave  he  will 
not  be  lonely,  will  he?  The  holy  angels  will  have  tender 
names  for  him  there,  will  they  not?” 

“The  Lord  Jesus  will,  at  all  events,”  I said.  “He 
calleth  his  own  sheep  by  name.” 

And  Gretchen  was  comforted  for  the  elector. 

Not  long  after  that  day  of  mourning  came  a day  of 
rejoicing  to  our  household,  and  to  all  the  friendly  circle  at 
Wittenberg. 

Quietly,  in  our  house,  on  June  the  23d,  Dr.  Luther  and 
Catherine  von  Bora  were  married. 

A few  days  afterward  the  wedding  feast  was  held  on  the 
home-bringing  of  the  bride  to  the  Augustinian  cloister, 
which,  together  with  “twelve  brewings  of  beer  yearly,” 
the  good  elector  John  Frederic  has  given  Luther  as  a wed- 
ding present.  Brave  old  John  Luther  and  his  wife,  and 
Luther’s  pious  mother  came  to  the  feast  from  Mansfield, 
and  a day  of  much  festivity  it  was  to  all. 

And  now  for  six  months,  what  Luther  calls  “that  great 
thing,  the  union  and  communion  between  husband  and 
wife,”  hath  hallowed  the  old  convent  into  a home,  while 
the  prayer  of  faith  and  the  presence  of  Him  whom  faith 
sees,  have  consecrated  the  home  into  a sanctuary  of  love 
and  peace. 

Many  precious  things  hath  Dr.  Luther  said  of  marriage. 
God,  he  says,  has  set  the  type  of  marriage  before  us 
throughout  all  creation.  Each  creature  seeks  its  perfection 
through  being  blent  with  another.  The  very  heaven  and 
earth  picture  it  to  us,  for  does  not  the  sky  embrace  the 
green  earth  as  its  bride?  “Precious,  excellent,  glorious,” 
he  says,  “is  that  word  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  ‘the  heart  of  the 
husband  doth  safely  trust  in  her.’  ” 

He  says  also,  that  so  does  he  honor  the  married  state 
that  before  he  thought  of  marrying  his  Catherine,  he  had 
resolved,  if  he  should  be  laid  suddenly  on  his  dying  bed,  to 
be  espoused  before  he  died,  and  to  give  two  silver  goblets 
to  the  maiden  as  his  wedding  and  dying  gifts.  And  lately 


THE  SCHON BERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


361 


he  counseled  one  who  was  to  be  married,  “Dear  friend,  do 
thou  as  I did,  when  I would  take  my  Kathe.  I prayed  to 
our  Lord  God  with  all  my  heart.  A good  wife  is  a com- 
panion of  life,  and  her  husband’s  solace  and  joy,  and  when 
a pious  man  and  wife  love  each  other  truly,  the  devil  has 
little  power  to  hurt  them.” 

“All  men,”  he  said,  “believe  and  understand  that  mar- 
riage is  marriage,  a hand  a hand,  riches  are  riches;  but  to 
believe  that  marriage  is  of  God,  and  ordered  and  appointed 
by  God;  that  the  hand  is  made  by  God,  that  wealth  and 
all  we  have  and  are  is  given  by  God,  and  is  to  be  used  as 
his  work  to  his  praise,  that  is  not  so  commonly  believed. 
And  a good  wife,”  he  said,  “should  be  loved  and  honored, 
firstly,  because  she  is  God’s  gift  and  present;  secondly, 
because  God  has  endowed  woman  with  noble  and  great 
virtues,  which,  when  they  are  modest,  faithful,  and  believ- 
ing, far  overbalance  their  little  failings  and  infirmities.” 

Wittenberg,  December,  1525. 

Another  year  all  but  closed — a year  of  mingled  .storm 
and  sunshine!  The  sorrow  we  dreaded  for  our  poor  Thekla 
is  come  at  last  too  surely.  Bertrand  de  Crequi  is  dead! 
He  died  in  a prison  alone,  for  conscience’s  sake,  but  at 
peace  in  God.  A stranger  from  Flanders  brought  her  a 
few  words  of  farewell  in  his  handwriting,  and  afterward 
saw  him  dead,  so  that  she  cannot  doubt.  She  seems  to 
move  about  like  one  walking  in  a dream,  performing  every 
common  act  of  life  as  before,  but  with  the  soul  asleep.  We 
are  afraid  what  will  be  the  end  of  it.  God  help  her!  She 
is  now  gone  for  the  Christmas  to  Eva  and  Fritz. 

Sad  divisions  have  sprung  up  among  the  evangelical 
Christians.  Dr.  Luther  is  very  angry  at  some  doctrines  of 
Carlstadt  and  the  Swiss  brethren  concerning  the  holy  sac- 
raments, and  says  they  will  be  wise  above  what  is  written. 
We  grieve  at  these  things,  especially  as  our  Atlantis  has 
married  a Swiss,  and  Dr.  Luther  will  not  acknowledge  them 
as  brethren.  Our  poor  Atlantis  is  much  perplexed,  and 
writes  that  she  is  sure  her  husband  meaneth  not  to  under- 
value the  Holy  Supper,  and  that  in  very  truth  they  find 
their  Saviour  present  there  as  we  do.  But  Dr.  Luther  is 
very  stern  about  it.  He  fears  disorders  and  wild  opinions 
will  be  brought  in  again,  such  as  led  to  the  slaughter  of  the 
peasants’  war.  Yet  he  himself  is  sorely  distressed  about 


362 


THE  SCHOJSTB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


it,  and  saith  often  that  the  times  are  so  evil  the  end  of  the 
world  is  surely  drawing  nigh. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  perplexity,  we  who  love  him 
rejoice  that  he  has  that  quiet  home  in  the  Augustei,  where 
“Lord  Kathe,”  as  he  calls  her,  and  her  little  son  Hanschen 
reign,  and  where  the  dear,  holy  angels,  as  Luther  says, 
watch  over  the  cradle  of  the  child.  It  was  a festival  to  all 
Wittenberg  when  little  Ilans  Luther  was  born. 

Luther’s  house  is  like  the  sacred  hearth  of  Wittenberg 
and  of  all  the  land.  There  in  the  winter  evenings  he  wel- 
. comes  his  friends  to  the  cheerful  room  with  the  large  win- 
dow, and  sometimes  they  sing  good  songs  or  holy  hymns  in 
parts,  accompanied  by  the  lute  and  harp,  music  at  which 
Dr.  Luther  is  sure  King  David  would  be  amazed  and 
delighted,  could  he  rise  from  his  grave,  “since  there  can 
have  been  none  so  fine  in  his  days.”  “ The  devil,”  he  says, 
“always  flies  from  music,  especially  from  sacred  music, 
because  he  is  a despairing  spirit,  and  cannot  bear  joy  and 
gladness.”  * 

And  in  the  summer  days  he  sits  under  the  pear  tree  in 
his  garden,  while  Katlie  works  beside  him;  or  he  plants 
seeds  and  makes  a fountain;  or  he  talks  to  her  and  his 
friends  about  the  wonders  of  beauty  God  has  set  in  the 
humblest  flowers,  and  the  picture  of  the  resurrection  he 
gives  us  in  every  delicate  twig  that  in  spring  bursts  from 
the  dry  brown  stems  of  winter. 

More  and  more  we  see  what  a good  wife  God  has  given 
him  in  Catherine  von  Bora,  with  her  cheerful,  firm,  and 
active  spirit,  and  her  devoted  affection  for  him.  Already 
she  has*  the  management  of  all  the  finance  of  the  house- 
hold, a very  necessary  arrangement,  if  the  house  of  Luther 
is  not  to  go  to  ruin;  for  Dr.  Luther  would  give  every- 
thing, even  to  his  clothes  and  furniture,  to  any  one  in  dis- 
tress, and  he  will  not  receive  any  payment  either  for  his 
books  or  for  teaching  the  students. 

She  is  a companion  for  him,  moreover,  and  not  a mere 
listener,  which  he  likes,  however  much  he  may  laugh  at 
her  eloquence,  “ in  her  own  department  surpassing  Cicero’s,” 
and  sarcastically  relate  how  when  first  they  were  married, 
not  knowing  what  to  say,  but  wishing  to  “make  conversa- 
tion,” she  used  to  say,  as  she  sat  at  her  work  beside  him, 
“ Herr  Doctor,  is  not  the  lord  high  chamberlain  in  Prussia 
the  brother  of  the  margrave?”  hoping  that  such  high  dis- 


THE  SGIIONBER G-GO TTA  FAMILY. 


363 


course  would  not  be  too  trifling  for  him  ! He  says,  indeed, 
that  if  he  were  to  seek  an  obedient  wife,  he  would  carve 
one  for  himself  out  of  stone.  But  the  belief  among  us  is, 
that  there  are  few  happier  homes  than  Dr.  Luther’s;  and 
if  at  any  time  Catherine  finds  him  oppressed  with  a sadness 
too  deep  for  her  ministry  to  reach,  she  quietly  creeps  out 
and  calls  Justus  Jonas  or  some  other  friend  to  come  and 
cheer  the  doctor.  Often,  also,  she  reminds  him  of  the 
letters  he  has  to  write;  and  he  likes  to  have  her  sitting  by 
him  while  he  writes,  which  is  a proof  sufficient  that  she 
can  be  silent  when  necessary,  whatever  jests  the  doctor 
may  make  about  her  “long  sermons,  which  she  certainly 
never  would  have  made,  if,  like  other  preachers,  she  had 
taken  the  precaution  of  beginning  with  the  Lord’s  Prayer!” 

The  Christian  married  life,  as  he  says,  “is  a humble  and 
a holy  life,”  and  well,  indeed,  is  it  for  our  German  Infor- 
mation that  its  earthly  center  is  neither  a throne,  nor  a 
hermitage,  but  a lowly  Christian  home. 

Parsonage  of  Gersdorf,  June,  1527. 

I am  staying  with  Eva  while  Fritz  is  absent  making  a 
journey  of  inspection  of  the  schools  throughout  Saxony 
at  Dr.  Luther’s  desire,  with  Dr.  Philip  Melancthon,  and 
many  other  learned  men. 

Dr.  Luther  has  set  his  heart  on  improving  the  education 
of  the  children,  and  is  anxious  to  have  some  of  the  revenues 
of  the  suppressed  convents  appropriated  to  this  purpose 
before  all  are  quietly  absorbed  by  the  nobles  and  princes 
for  their  own  uses. 

It  is  a renewal  of  youth  to  me,  in  my  sober  middle  age  to 
be  here  alone  with  Eva,  and  yet  not  alone.  For  the  terror 
of  my  youth  is  actually  under  our  roof  with  me.  Aunt 
Agnes  is  an  inmate  of  Fritz’s  home!  During  the  pillaging 
of  the  convents  and  dispersing  of  the  nuns  which  took 
place  in  the  dreadful  peasants’  war,  she  was  driven  from 
Nimptschen,  and  after  spending  a few  weeks  with  our 
mother  at  Wittenberg,  has  finally  taken  refuge  with  Eva 
and  Fritz. 

But  Eva’s  little  twin  children,  Heinz  and  Agnes,  will 
associate  a very  different  picture  with  the  name  of  Aunt 
Agnes  from  the  rigid,  lifeless  face  and  voice  which  used  to 
haunt  my  dreams  of  a religious  life,  and  make  me  dread 
the  heaven,  of  whose  inhabitants,  I was  told,  Aunt  Agnes 
was  a type. 


364 


THE  SCHONBEUQ-COTTA  FAMILY . 


Perhaps  the  white  hair  softens  the  high  but  furrowed 
brow;  yet  surely  there  was  not  that  kindly  gleam  in  the 
grave  eyes  I remember,  or  that  tender  tone  in  the  voice. 
Is  it  an  echo  of  the  voices  of  the  little  ones  she  so  dearly 
loves,  and  a reflection  of  the  sunshine  in  their  eyes?  No; 
better  than  that  even,  I know,  because  Eva  told  me.  It  is 
the  smile  and  the  music  of  a heart  made  as  that  of  a little 
child  through  believing  in  the  Saviour.  It  is  the  peace  of 
the  Pharisee,  who  has  won  the  publican’s  blessing  by 
meekly  taking  the  publican’s  place. 

I confess,  however,  I do  not  think  Aunt  Agnes’  presence 
improves  the  discipline  of  Eva’s  household.  She  is  ex- 
ceedingly slow  to  detect  any  traces  of  original  sin  in  Eva’s 
children,  while  to  me,  on  the  contrary,  the  wonder  is  that 
any  creature  so  good  and  exemplary  as  Eva  should  have 
children  so  much  like  other  people’s — even  mine.  One 
would  have  thought  that  her  infants  would  have  been  a 
•kind  of  half  angels,  taking  naturally  to  all  good  things,  and 
never  doing  wrong  except  by  mistake  in  a gentle  and  mod- 
erate way.  Whereas,  I must  say,  I hear  frequent  little 
wails  of  rebellion  from  Eva’s  nursery,  especially  at  seasons 
of  ablution,  much  as  from  mine;  and  1 do  not  think  even 
our  Fritz  ever  showed  more  decided  pleasure  in  mischief, 
or  more  determined  self-will,  than  Eva’s  little  rosy  Heinz. 

One  morning  after  a rather  prolonged  little  battle  be- 
tween Heinz  and  his  mother  about  some  case  of  oppression 
of  little  Agnes,  I suggested  to  Aunt  Agnes: 

“ Only  to  think  that  Eva,  if  she  had  kept  to  her  voca- 
tion, might  have  attained  to  the  full  ideal  of  the  ‘Theo- 
logia  Teutsch,’  have  become  a St.  Elizabeth,  or  indeed  far 
better!” 

Aunt  Agnes  looked  up  quickly: 

“And  you  mean  to  say  she  is  not  better  now!  You  im- 
agine that  spinning  meditations  all  day  long  is  more  Chris- 
tian work  for  a woman  than  training  these  little  ones  for 
God,  and  helping  them  to  fight  their  first  battles  with  the 
devil !” 

“ Perhaps  not,  Aunt  Agnes,”  I said,  “but  then,  you  see, 
I know  nothing  of  the  inside  of  a convent.” 

“/  do”  said  Aunt  Agnes  emphatically,  “and  also  of  the 
inside  of  a nun’s  heart.  And  I know  what  wretched  work 
we  make  of  it  when  we  try  to  take  our  education  out  of  our 
heavenly  Father’s  hands  into  our  own.  Do  you  think,” 


THE  SC  HONE ERG-COTTA  FAMILY, 


365 


she  continued,  “Eva  did  not  learn  more  in  the  long  nights 
when  she  watched  over  her  sick  child  than  she  could  have 
learned  in  a thousand  self-imposed  vigils  before  any  shrine? 
And  to-night,  when  she  kneels  with  Heinz,  as  she  will,  and 
says  with  him,  ‘Pray  God  forgive  little  Heinz  for  being 
a cross,  naughty  boy  to-day,’  and  lays  him  on  his  pillow, 
and  as  she  watches  him  fall  asleep,  asks  God  to  bless  and 
train  the  willful  little  one,  and  then  asks  for  pardon  her- 
self, do  you  not  think  she  learns  more  of  what  forgiveness 
means  and  ‘Our  Father’  than  from  a year’s  study  of  the 
‘Theologia  Teutsch?’  ” 

I smiled,  and  said,  “Dear  Aunt  Agnes,  if  Fritz  wants  to 
hear  Eva’s  praises  well  sung,  I will  tell  him  to  suggest  to 
you  whether  it  might  not  have  been  a higher  vocation  for 
her  to  remain  a nun !” 

“Ah!  child,”  said  Aunt  Agnes,  with  a little  mingling  of 
the  old  sternness  and  the  new  tenderness  in  her  voice;  “if 
you  had  learned  wh^  I have  from  those  lips,  and  in  this 
house,  you  could  not,  even  in  jest,  bear  to  hear  a syllable 
of  reflection  on  either.” 

Indeed,  even  Aunt  Agnes  cannot  honor  this  dear  home 
more  than  I do.  Open  to  every  peasant  who  has  a sorrow 
or  a wrong  to  tell,  it  is  also  linked  with  the  castle;  and 
linked  to  both,  not  by  any  class  privileges,  but  because 
here  peasants  and  nobles  alike  are  welcomed  as  men  and 
women,  and  as  Christian  brothers  and  sisters. 

Now  and  then  we  pay  a visit  to  the  castle,  where  our 
noble  sister  Chriemhild  is  enthroned.  But  my  tastes  have 
always  been  burgher  like,  and  the  parsonage  suits  me 
much  better  than  the  castle.  Besides,  I cannot  help  feel- 
ing some  little  awe  of  Dame  Hermentrud,  especially  when 
my  two  boys  are  with  me,  who  are  apt  to  indulge  in  a 
burgher  freedom  in  their  demeanor.  The  furniture  and 
arrangements  of  the  castle  are  a generation  behind  our  own 
at  Wittenberg,  and  I cannot  at  all  make  the  boys  compre- 
hend Hie  majesty  of  the  Gersdorf  ancestry,  nor  the  neces-*- 
sary  inferiority  of  people  who  live  in  streets  tp  those  who 
live  in  isolated  rock  fortresses.  So  that  I am  reduced  to 
the  Bible  law  of  “honor  to  gray  hairs”  to  enforce  due 
respect  to  Dame  Hermentrud. 

Little  Fritz  wants  to  know  what  the  Gersdorf  ancestry 
are  renowned  for.  “Was  it  for  learning?”  he  asked. 

I thought  not,  as  it  is  only  this  generation  who  have 


366 


THE  SGH ON  BERG-GO  TTA  FAMILY. 


learned  to  read,  and  the  old  knight  even  is  suspected  of 
having  strong  reasons  for  preferring  listening  to  Ulrich’s 
reading  to  using  a book  for  himself. 

“Was  it  then  for  courage?” 

“Certainly,  the  Gersdorfs  had  always  been  brave.” 

“With  whom,  then,  had  they  fought?” 

“At  the  time  of  the  Crusades,  I believed,  against  the 
infidels.” 

“And  since  then?” 

I did  not  feel  sure,  but  looking  at  the  ruined  castle  of 
Bernstein  and  the  neighboring  height,  I was  afraid  it  was 
against  their  neighbors. 

And  so,  after  much  cross  questioning,  the  distinctions  of 
the  Gersdorf  family  seemed  to  be  chiefly  reduced  to  their 
having  been  Gersdorfs,  and  having  lived  at  Gersdorf  for  a 
great  many  hundred  years. 

Then  Fritz  desired  to  know  in  what  way  his  cousins,  the 
Gersdorfs  of  this  generation,  are  to  distinguish  themselves? 
This  question  also  was  a perplexity  to  me,  as  I know  it 
often  is  to  Chriemhild.  They  must  not  on  any  account 
be  merchants;  and  now  that  in  the  Evangelical  Church  the 
great  abbeys  are  suppressed,  and  some  of  the  bishoprics  are 
to  be  secularized,  it  is  hardly  deemed  consistent  with  Gers- 
dorf dignity  that  they  should  become  clergymen.  The 
eldest  will  have  the  castle.  One  of  them  may  study  civil 
law.  For  the  others  nothing  seems  open  but  the  idling 
dependent  life  of  pages  and  military  attendants  in  the 
castles  of  some  of  the  greater  nobles. 

If  the  past  is  the  inheritance  of  the  knights,  it  seems  to 
me  the  future  is  far  more  likely  to  be  the  possession  of  the 
active  burgher  families.  I cannot  but  feel  thankful  for  the 
lot  which  opens  to  our  boys  honorable  spheres  of  action  in 
the  great  cities  of  the  empire.  There  seems  no  room  for 
expansion  in  the  life  of  those  petty  nobles.  While  the 
patrician  families  of  the  cities  are  sailing  on  the  broad  cur- 
rent of  the  times,  encouraging  art,  advancing  learning, 
themselves  sharing  all  the  thought  and  progress  of  the 
time,  these  knightly  families  in  the  country  remain  isolated 
in  their  grim  castles,  ruling  over  a few  peasants,  and  fet- 
tered to  a narrow  local  circle,  while  the  great  current  of 
the  age  sweeps  by  them. 

Gottfried  says,  narrow  and  ill-used  privileges  always  end 
in  ruining  those  who  bigotedly  cling  to  them.  The  exclu- 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


367 


siveness  which  begins  with  shutting  others  out,  commonly 
ends  in  shutting  the  exclusive  in.  The  lordly  fortress 
becomes  the  narrow  prison. 

All  these  thoughts  passed  through  my  mind  as  I left  the 
rush-strewn  floor  of  the  hall  where  Dame  Iiermentrud  had 
received  me  and  my  boys,  with  a lofty  condescension, 
while,  in  the  course  of  the  interview,  I had  heard  her 
secretly  remarking  to  Chriemhild  how  unlike  the  cousins 
were;  “it  was  quite  singular  how  entirely  the  Gersdorf 
children  were  unlike  the  Cottas.” 

But  it  was  not  until  I entered  Eva’s  lowly  home,  that  I 
detected  the  bitter  root  of  wounded  pride  from  which  my 
deep  social  speculations  sprang.  I had  been  avenging  my- 
self on  the  Schonberg-Gersdorf  past  by  means  of  the  Cotta- 
Reichenbach  future.  Yes;  Fritz  and  Eva’s  lowly  home  is 
nobler  than  Chriemhild’s,  and  richer  than  ours;  richer  and 
nobler  just  in  as  far  as  it  is  more  lowly  and  more  Christian! 

And  I learned  my  lesson  after  this  manner. 

“Dame  Hermentrud  is  very  proud,”  I said  to  Eva,  as  I 
returned  from  the  castle  and  sat  down  beside  her  in  the 
porch,  where  she  was  sewing;  “and  I really  cannot  see  on 
what  ground.” 

Eva  made  no  reply,  but  a little  amused  smile  played 
about  her  mouth,  which  for  the  moment  rather  aggravated 

me. 

“Do  you  mean  to  say  she  is  not  proud,  Eva?”  I con- 
tinued controversially. 

“I  did  not  mean  to  say  that  anyone  was  not  proud,” 
said  Eva. 

“ Did  you  mean  then  to  imply  that  she  has  anything  to 
be  proud  of?” 

“ There  are  all  the  ghosts  of  all  the  Gersdorf s,”  said 
Eva;  “and  there  is  the  high  ancestral  privilege  of  wearing 
velvet  and  pearls,  which  you  and  I dare  not  assume.” 

“Surely,”  said  I,  “the  privilege  of  possessing  Lucas 
Cranach’s  pictures,  and  Albrecht  Diirer’s  carvings,  is  bet- 
ter than  that.” 

“Perhaps  it  is,”  said  Eva  demurely;  “perhaps  wealth  is 
as  firm  ground  for  pride  to  build  on  as  ancestral  rank. 
Those  who  have  neither,  like  Fritz  and  I,  may  be  the  most 
candid  judges.” 

I laughed,  and  felt  a cloud  pass  from  my  heart.  Eva 
had  dared  to  call  the  sprite  which  vexed  me  by  his  right 


368  THE  SCHONBEBG-COTTA  FAMILY . 

name,  and  like  any  other  gnome  or  cobold,  he  vanished 
instantly. 

Thank  God  our  Eva  is  Cousin  Eva  again,  instead  of 
Sister  Ave;  that  her  single  heart  is  here  among  us  to  flash 
the  light  on  our  consciences  just  by  shining,  instead  of 
being  hidden  under  a saintly  canopy  in  the  shrine  of  some 
distant  convent. 

July,  1527. 

Fkitz  is  at  home.  It  was  delightful  to  see  what  a festi- 
val his  return  was,  not  only  in  the  home,  hut  in  the  village 
— the  children  running  to  the  doors  to  receive  a smile,  the 
mothers  stopping  in  their  work  to  welcome  him.  The 
day  after  his  return  was  Sunday.  As  usual,  the  children 
of  the  village  were  assembled  at  five  o’clock  in  the  morning 
to  church.  Among  them  were  our  boys,  and  Cliriemhild’s, 
and  Eva’s  twins,  Heinz  and  Agnes — rosy,  merry  children 
of  the  forest  as  they  are.  All,  however,  looked  as  good 
and  sweet  as  if  they  had  been  children  of  Eden,  as  they 
tripped  that  morning  after  each  other  over  the  village 
green,  their  bright  little  forms  passing  in  and  out  of  the 
shadow  of  the  great  beech  tree  which  stands  opposite  the 
church. 

The  little  company  all  stood  together  in  the  church 
before  the  altar,  while  Fritz  stood  on  the  step  and  taught 
them.  At  first  they  sang  a hymn,  the  elder  boys  in  Latin, 
and  then  altogether  in  German;  and  then  Fritz  heard 
them  say  Luther’s  Catechism.  How  sweetly  the  lisping, 
childish  voices  answered  his  deep,  manly  voice;  like  the 
rustling  of  countless  summer  leaves  outside,  or  the  fall  of 
the  countless  tiny  cascades  of  the  village  stream  in  the 
still  summer  morning. 

“My  dear  child,  wliat  art  thou?”  he  said. 

Answered  from  the  score  of  little  hushed,  yet  ringing 
voices: 

“I  am  a Christian.” 

“How  dost  thou  know  that?” 

“Because  I am  baptized,  and  believe  on  my  dear  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.” 

“ What  is  it  needful  that  a Christian  should  know  for 
his  salvation?” 

Answer — “The  Catechism.” 

And  afterward,  in  the  part  concerning  the  Christian 
faith,  the  sweet  voices  repeated  the  Creed  in  German. 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


369 


“I  believe  in  God  the  Father  Almighty.” 

And  Fritz’s  voice  asked  gently: 

“ What  does  that  mean?” 

Answer — “I  believe  that1  God  has  created  me  and  all 
creatures;  has  given  me  body  and  soul,  eyes,  ears,  and  all 
my  limbs,  reason,  and  all  my  senses,  and  still  preserves 
them  to  me;  and  that  he  has  also  given  me  my  clothes  and 
my  shoes,  and  whatsoever  I eat  or  drink;  that  richly  and 
daily  he  provides  me  with  all  needful  nourishment  for  body 
and  life,  and  guards  me  from  all  danger  and  evil;  and  all 
this  out  of  pure  fatherly  divine  goodness  and  mercy,  with- 
out any  merit  or  deserving  of  mine.  And  for  all  this  I am 
bound  to  thank  and  praise  him,  and  also  to  serve  and  obey 
him.  This  is  certainly  true.” 

Again : 

“ I believe  in  Jesus  Christ,”  etc. 

“ What  does  that  mean?” 

“I  believe  that  Jesus  Christ,  true  God,  begotten  of  the 
Father  from  eternity,  and  also  true  man,  born  of  the  Vir- 
gin Mary,  is  my  Lord  who  has  redeemed  me,  a lost  and 
condemned  human  creature,  has  purchased  and  won  me 
from  all  sins,  from  death  and  from  the  power  of  the  devil, 
not  with  silver  and  gold,  but  with  his  own  holy,  precious 
blood,  and  with  his  innocent  suffering  and  dying,  that 
I may  be  his  own,  and  live  in  his  kingdom  under  him,  and 
serve  him  in  endless  righteousness,  innocence,  and  blessed- 
ness, even  as  he  is  risen  from  the  dead,  and  lives  and  reigns 
forever.  This  is  certainly  true.” 

And  again : 

“ I believe  in  the  Holy  Ghost.” 

“What  does  that  mean?” 

“I  believe  that  not  by  my  own  reason  or  power  can  I 
believe  on  Jesus  Christ  my  Lord,  or  come  to  him;  but  the 
Holy  Ghost  has  called  me  through  the  Gospel,  enlightened 
me  with  his  gifts,  sanctified  and  kept  me  in  the  right 
faith,  as  he  calls  all  Christian  people  on  earth,  gathers,  en- 
lightens, sanctifies  them,  and  through  Jesus  keeps  them 
in  the  right  and  only  faith,  among  which  Christian  people 
he  daily  richly  forgives  all  sins,  to  me  and  all  believers, 
and  at  the  last  day  will  awaken  me  and  all  the  dead,  and 
to  me  and  all  believers  in  Christ  will  give  eternal  life. 
This  is  certainly  true.” 

And  again,  on  the  Lord’s  Prayer,  the  children’s  voices 
began : 


370 


THE  SGHONBEUQ-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


"Our  Father  who  art  in  heaven.” 

“ What  does  that  mean?” 

“God  will  in  this  way  sweetly  persuade  us  to  believe 
that  he  is  our  true  Father,  and  that  we  are  his  true  chil- 
dren; that  cheerfully  and  with  all  confidence  we  may  ask 
of  him  as  dear  children  ask  of  their  dear  fathers.” 

And  at  the  end : 

“What  does  Amen  mean?” 

“That  I should  be  sure  such  prayers  are  acceptable  to 
the  Father  in  heaven,  and  granted  by  him,  for  he  himself 
has  taught  us  thus  to  pray,  and  promised  that  he  will  hear 
us.  Amen,  amen — that  means,  Yes , yes , that  shall  be 

done.” 

And  when  it  was  asked : 

“ Who  receives  the  holy  sacrament  worthily?” 

Softly  came  the  answer: 

“He  is  truly  and  rightly  prepared  who  has  faith  in  these 
words,  ‘ Given  and  shed  for  you,  for  the  forgiveness  of 
sins.’  Buthe  who  doubts  or  disbelieves  these  words,  is 
unworthy  and  unprepared;  for  the  words,  ‘ for  you ,’  need 
simple  believing  hearts.” 

As  I listened  to  the  simple  living  words,  I could  not 
wronder  that  Dr.  Luther  often  repeats  them  to  himself,  or 
rather,  as  he  says,  “to  God”  as  an  antidote  to  the  fiery 
darts  of  the  wicked  one. 

And  so  the  childish  voices  died  away  in  the  morning 
stillness  of  the  church,  and  the  shadows  of  the  columns 
fell  silently  across  the  grassy  mounds  or  wooden  crosses, 
beneath  which  rest  the  village  aead;  and  as  we  went  home, 
the  long  shadow  of  the  beech  tree  fell  on  the  dewy  village 
green. 

Then,  before  eleven  o’clock,  the  church  bell  began  to 
ring,  and  the  peasants  came  trooping  from  the  different 
clearings  of  the  forest.  One  by  one  we  watched  the  vari- 
ous groups  in  their  bright  holiday  dresses,  issuing  out  of 
the  depths  of  dark  green  shade,  among  them,  doubtless, 
many  a branch  of  the  Luther  family  who  live  in  this 
neighborhood.  Afterward  each  door  in  the  village  poured 
out  its  contributions,  and  soon  the  little  church  was  full, 
the  men  and  women  seated  on  the  opposite  sides  of  the 
church,  and  the  aged  gathered  around  the  pulpit.  Fritz’s 
text  was  Eva’s  motto,  “ God  so  loved  the  world.”  Simply, 
with  illustrations  such  as  they  could  understanad,  he  spoke 


THE  SCIloNB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


m 


to  them  of  God’s  infinite  love,  and  the  infinite  cost  at 
which  he  had  redeemed  ns,  and  of  the  love  and -trust  and 
obedience  we  owe  him,  and,  according  to  Dr.  Luther’s 
advice,  he  did  not  speak  too  long,  but  “ called  black  black, 
and  white  white,  keeping  to  one  simple  subject,  so  that 
the  people  may  go  away  and  say,  4 The  sermon  was  about 
this .’  ” For,  as  I heard  Dr.  Luther  say,  “We  must  not 
speak  to  the  common  people  of  high,  difficult  things,  or 
with  mysterious  words.  To  the  church  come  little  chil- 
dren, maid -servants,  old  men  and  women,  to  whom  high 
doctrine  teaches  nothing.  For,  if  they  say  about  it,  ‘Ah, 
he  said  excellent  things,  he  has  made  a fine  sermon!’  And 
one  asks,  ‘What  about,  then?’  they  reply,  ‘I  know  not.’ 
Let  us  remember  what  pains  our  Lord  Christ  took  to 
preach  simply.  From  the  vineyard,  from  the  sheepfold, 
from  trees,  he  drew  his  illustrations,  all  that  the  people 
might  feel  and  understand.” 

That  sermon  of  Fritz’s  left  a deep  rest  in  my  heart.  He 
spoke  not  of  justification,  and  redemption  merely,  but  of 
God  redeeming  and  justifying  us.  Greater  service  can 
no  one  render  us  than  to  recall  to  us  what  God  has  done 
for  us,  and  how  he  really  and  tenderly  cares  for  us. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  children  were  gathered  for  a little 
while  in  the  schoolroom,  and  questioned  about  the  sermon. 
At  sunset  again  we  all  met  for  a short  service  in  the  church, 
and  sang  evening  hymns  in  German,  after  which  the  pastor 
pronounced  the  benediction,  and  the  little  community 
scattered  once  more  to  their  various  homes. 

With  the  quiet  sunshine,  and  the  light  shed  on  the  home 
by  Fritz’s  return,  to-day  seemed  to  me  almost  like  a day 
in  paradise. 

Thank  God  again  and  again  for  Dr.  Luther,  and  especi- 
ally for  these  two  great  benefits  given  back  to  us  through 
him — first,  that  he  has  unsealed  the  fountain  of  God’s 
Word  from  the  icy  fetters  of  the  dead  language,  and  sent 
it  flowing  through  the  land,  everywhere  wakening  winter 
Jnto  spring;  and  secondly,  that  he  has  vindicated  the 
sancitity  of  marriage  and  the  home  life  it  constitutes; 
unsealing  the  grave-stones  of  the  convent  gates,  and  send- 
ing forth  the  religion  entrance^  and  buried  there,  to  bless 
the  world  in  a thousand  lowly,  holy,  Christian  homes  such 
as  this. 


372  THE  SGHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

thekla’s  story. 

* Wittenberg,  September,  1527. 

I have  said  it  from  my  heart  at  last!  yes,  I am  sure  I 
say  it  from  my  heart,  and  if  with  a broken  heart,  God  will 
not  despise  that. 

“ Our  father  which  art  in  heaven,  thy  will , not  mine  be 
done” 

I thought  I could  bear  anything  better  than  suspense; 
but  I had  no  idea  what  a blank  of  despair  the  certainty 
would  bring. 

Then  came  dreadful  rebellious  thoughts,  that  God  should 
let  him  die  alone!  and  then  recurred  to  my  heart  all  they 
had  said  to  me  about  not  making  idols,  and  I began  to  fear 
I had  never  really  loved  or  worshiped  God  at  all,  but  only 
Bertrand;  and  then  came  a long  time  of  blank  and  dark- 
ness into  which  no  light  of  human  or  divine  love  or  voices 
of  comfort  seemed  in  the  least  to  penetrate.  I thought 
God  would  never  receive  me  until  I could  say,  “Thy  will 
be  done,”  and  this  I could  not  say. 

The  first  words  I remember  that  seemed  to  convey  any 
meaning  to  me  at  all,  were  some  of  Dr.  Luther’s  in  a ser- 
mon. He  said  it  was  easy  to  believe  in  God’s  pardoning 
love  in  times  of  peace,  but  in  times  of  temptation  when 
the  devil  assailed  the  soul  with  all  his  fiery  darts,  he  him- 
self found  it  hard,  indeed,  to  hold  to  the  truth  he  knew  so 
well,  that  Christ  was  not  a severe  judge,  or  a hard  exacter, 
but  a forgiving  Saviour,  indeed  love  itself,  pure  unalterable 
love. 

Then  I began  to  understand  it  was  the  devil,  the  malig- 
nant, exacting  evil  spirit  that  I had  been  listening  to  in  the 
darkness  of  my  heart,  that  it  was  he  who  had  been  per- 
suading me  I must  not  dare  to  go  to  my  Father,  before  I 
could  bring  him  a perfectly  submissive  heart. 

And  then  I remembered  the  words,  “ Come  unto  me,  ye 
that  are  weary  and  heavy  laden;”  and,  alone  in  my  room, 
I fell  on  my  knees,  and  cried,  “Oh  blessed  Saviour,  oh 
heavenly  Father,  I am  not  submissive;  but  I am  weary, 
weary  and  heavy  laden;  and  I come  to  thee/  Wilt  thou 
take  me  as  I am,  and  teach  me  in  time  to  say,  4 Thy  will  be 
done?’  ” And  he  received  me,  and  in  time  he  has  taught 
me.  At  least  I can  say  so  to-night.  To-morrow,  perhaps, 
the  old  rebellion  will  come  back.  But  if  it  does,  I will  go 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 373 

again  to  our  heavenly  Father  and  say  again,  “Not  sub- 
missive yet,  only  heavy  laden ! Father,  take  my  hand,  and 
say,  begin  again!” 

Because  amid  all  these  happy  homes  I felt  so  unnecessary 
to  any  one,  and  so  unutterably  lonely.  I longed  for  the 
old  convents  to  bury  myself  in,  away  from  all  joyous  sounds. 
But,  thank  God,  they  were  closed  for  me;  and  I do  not 
wish  for  them  now. 

Dr.  Luther  began  to  help  me  by  showing  me  how  the 
devil  had  been  keeping  me  from  God. 

And  now  God  has  helped  me  by  sending  through  my 
heart  again  a glow  of  thankfulness  and  love. 

The  plague  has  been  at  Wittenberg  again.  Dr.  Luther’s 
house  has  been  turned  into  a hospital;  for  dear  as  are  his 
Katlie  and  his  little  Hans  to  him  he  would  not  flee  from 
the  danger,  any  more  than  years  ago,  when  he  was  a monk 
in  the  convent  which  is  now  his  home. 

And  what  a blessing  his  strong  and  faithful  words  have 
been  among  us,  from  the  pulpit,  by  the  dying  bed,  or  in 
the  house  of  mourning. 

But  it  is  through  my  precious  mother  that  God  has 
spoken  to  my  heart,  and  made  me  feel  he  does  indeed  sus- 
tain, and  care,  and  listen.  She  was  so  nearly  gone.  And 
now  she  is  recovering.  They  say  the  danger  is  over.  And 
never  more  will  I say  in  my  heart,  “To  me  only  God  gives 
no  home,”  or  fear  to  let  my  heart  entwine  too  closely 
round  those  God  has  left  me  to  love,  because  of  the  anguish 
when  that  clasp  is  severed.  I will  take  the  joy  and  the 
love  with  all  its  possibilities  of  sorrow,  and  trust  in  God  for 
both. 

Perhaps,  also,  God  may  have  some  little  work  of  love 
for  me  to  do,  some  especial  service  even  for  me,  to  make 
me  needed  in  the  world  as  long  as  I am  here.  For  to-day 
Justus  Jonas,  who  has  lost  his  little  son  in  the  plague^ 
came  to  me  and  said:- 

“ Thekla,  come  and  see  my  wife.  She  says  you  can  com- 
fort her,  for  you  can  comprehend  sorrow.” 

Of  course  I went.  I do  not  think  I said  anything  to 
comfort  her.  I could  do  little  else  but  weep  with  her,  as  I 
looked  on  the  little,  innocent,  placid,  lifeless  face.  But 
when  I left  her,  she  said  I had  done  her  good,  and  begged 
me  to  come  again. 

So,  perhaps,  God  has  some  blessed  services  for  me  to 


m 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


render  him,  which  I could  only  have  learned  as  he  has 
taught  me;  and  when  we  meet  hereafter,  Bertrand  and  I, 
and  hear  that  dear  divine  and  human  voice  that  has  led  us 
through  the  world,  we  together  shall  be  glad  of  all  this 
bitter  pain  that  we  endured  and  felt,  and  give  thanks  for 
it  forever  and  forever ! 


PART  XX. 
else’s  story. 

Wittenberg,  May,  1520. 

Of  all  the  happy  homes  God  has  given  to  Germany 
through  Dr.  Luther,  I think  none  are  happier  than  his 
own. 

The  walls  of  the  Augustine  convent  echo  now  with  the 
pattering  feet  and  ringing  voices  of  little  children,  and 
every  night  the  angels  watch  over  the  sanctuary  of  a home. 
The  birthdays  of  Dr.  Luther’s  children  ^re  festivals  to  us 
all,  and  more  especially  the  birthday  of  little  Hans  the 
first-born  was  so. 

Yet  death  also  has  been  in  that  bright  home.  Their 
second  child,  a babe,  Elizabeth,  was  early  taken  from  her 
parents.  Dr.  Luther  grieved  over  her  much.  A little 
while  after  her  death  he  wrote  to  his  friend  Hausmann: 

“ Grace  and  peace.  My  Johannulus  thanks  thee,  best  Nic- 
holas, for  the  rattle,  in  which  he  glories  and  rejoices  won- 
drously. 

“I  have  begun  to  write  something  about  the  Turkish 
war,  which  will  not,  I hope,  be  useless. 

“ My  little  daughter  is  dead ; my  darling  little  Elizabeth. 
It  is  strange  how  sick  and  wounded  she  has  left  my  heart, 
almost  as  tender  as  a woman’s,  such  pity  moves  me  for 
that  little  one.  I never  could  have  believed  before  what 
is  the  tenderness  of  a father’s  heart  for  his  children.  Do 
thou  pray  to  the  Lord  for  me,  in  whom  fare-thee-well.” 

Catherine  von  Bora  is  honored  and  beloved  by  all.  Some 
indeed  complain  of  her  being  too  economical;  but  what 
would  become  of  Dr.  Luther  and  his  family  if  she  were  as 
reckless  in  giving  as  he  is?  He  has  been  known  even  to 
take  advantage  of  her  illness  to  bestow  his  plate  on  some 
needy  student.  He  never  will  receive  a kreuzer  from  the 


TEE  8CE0N BERG-COTTA  FAMILY.  375 

students  he  teaches;  and  he  refuses  to  sell  his  writings, 
which  provokes  both  Gottfried  and  me,  noble  as  it  is  of 
him,  because  the  great  profits  they  bring  would  surely  be 
better  spent  by  Dr.  Luther  than  by  the  printers  who  get 
them  now.  Our  belief  is,  that  were  it  not  for  Mistress 
Luther,  the  whole  household  would  have  long  since  been 
reduced  to  beggary,  and  Dr.  Luther,  who  does  not  scruple 
to  beg  of  the  elector  or  of  any  wealthy  person  for  the  needs 
of  others  (although  never  for  his  own),  knows  well  how 
precarious  such  a livelihood  is. 

His  wife  does  not,  however,  always  succeed  in  restraining 
his  propensities  to  give  everything  away.  Not  long  ago, 
in  defiance  of  her  remonstrating  looks,  in  her  presence  he 
bestowed  on  a student  who  came  to  him  asking  money  to 
help  him  home  from  the  university,  a silver  goblet  vhich 
had  been  presented  to  him,  saying  that  he  had  no  need  to 
drink  out  of  silver. 

We  all  feel  the  tender  care  with  which  she  watches  over 
his  health,  a gift  to  the  whole  land.  His  strength  has 
never  quite  recovered  the  strain  on  it  during  those  years  of 
conflict  and  penance  in  the  monastery  at  Erfurt.  And  it 
is  often  strained  to  the  utmost  now.  All  the  monks  and 
nuns  who  have  renounced  their  idle  maintenance  in  con- 
vents for  conscience’s  sake;  all  congregations  that  desire  an 
evangelical  pastor;  all  people  of  all  kinds  in  trouble . of 
mind,  body,  or  estate,  turn  to  Dr.  Luther  for  aid  or  coun- 
sel, as  to  the  warmest  heart  and  the  clearest  head  in  the 
land.  His  correspondence  is  incessant,  embracing  and 
answering  every  variety  of  perplexity,  from  counseling 
evangelical  princes  how  best  to  reform  their  states,  to 
directions  to  some  humble  Christian  woman  how  to  find 
peace  for  her  conscience  in  Christ.  And  besides  the  count- 
less applications  to  him  for  advice,  his  large  heart  seems 
always  at  leisure  to  listen  to  the  appeal  of  the  persecuted 
far  and  near,  or  to  the  cry  of  the  bereaved  and  sorrowful. 

Where  shall  we  find  the  spring  of  all  this  activity  but  in 
the  Bible , of  which  he  says,  “ There  are  few  trees  in  that 
garden  which  I have  not  shaken  for  fruit;”  and  in  prayer, 
of  which  he,  the  busiest  man  in  Christendom  (as  if  he  were 
a contemplative  hermit),  says  “Prayer  is  the  Christian’s 
business  ( Das  Gebet  est  cles  Christen  Hcindwerk ).” 

Yet,  it  is  the  leisure  he  makes  for  prayer  which  gives 
him  leisure  for  all  besides.  It  is  the  hours  passed  with  the 


376 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


life-giving  Word  which  makes  sermons,  and  correspond* 
ence,  and  teaching  of  all  kinds  to  him  simply  the  out* 
pouring  of  a full  heart. 

Yet  such  a life  wears  out  too  quicky.  More  than  once 
has  Mistress  Luther  been  in  sore  anxiety  about  him  during 
the  four  years  they  have  been  married. 

Once,  in  1527,  when  little  Hans  was  the  baby,  and  he 
believed  he  should  soon  have  to  leave  her  a widow  with  the 
fatherless  little  one,  he  said  rather  sadly  he  had  nothing  to 
leave  her  but  the  silver  tankards  which  had  been  presented 
to  him. 

“Dear  doctor,”  she  replied,  “if  it  be  God’s  will,  then  I 
also  choose  that  you  be  with  him  rather  than  with  me.  It 
is  not  so  much  I and  my  child  even  that  need  you  as  the 
multitude  of  pious  Christians.  Trouble  yourself  not 
about  me.” 

What  her  courageous  hopefulness  and  her  tender  watch- 
fulness have  been  to  him,  he  showed  when  he  said: 

“ I am  too  apt  to  expect  more  from  my  Kathe,  and  from 
Melancthon,  than  I do  from  Christ  my  Lord.  And  yet  I 
well  know  that  neither  they  nor  any  one  on  earth  has 
suffered,  or  can  suffer,  what  he  hath  suffered  for  me.” 

But  although  incessant  work  may  weigh  upon  his  body, 
there  are  severer  trials  which  weigh  upon  his  spirit.  The 
heart  so  quick  to  every  touch  of  affection  or  pleasure  can- 
not but  be  sensitive  to  injustice  or  disappointment.  It 
cannot  therefore  be  easy  for  him  to  bear  that  at  one  time  it 
should  be  perilous  for  him  to  travel  on  account  of  the 
indignation  of  the  nobles,  whose  relatives  he  has  rescued 
from  nunneries;  and  at  another  time  equally  unsafe 
because  of  the  indignation  of  the  peasants,  for  whom, 
though  he  boldly  and  openly  denounced  their  mad  insur- 
rection, he  pleads  fervently  with  nobles  and  princes. 

But  bitterer  than  all  other  things  to  him,  are  the  divi- 
sions among  evangelical  Christians.  Every  truth  he  be- 
lieves flashes  on  his  mind  with  such  overwhelming  convic- 
tion, that  it  seems  to  him  nothing  but  incomprehensible 
willfulness  for  any  one  else  not  to  see  it.  Every  conviction 
he  holds,  he  holds  with  the  grasp  of  one  ready  to  die  for  it 
— not  only  with  the  tenacity  of  possession,  but  of  a soldier 
to  whom  its  defense  has  been  intrusted.  He  would  not, 
indeed,  have  any  put  to  death  or  imprisoned  for  their  mis- 
belief. But  hold  out  the  hand  of  fellowship  to  those  who 


THE  SCHON BERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 377 

betray  any  part  of  his  Lord’s  trust,  he  thinks,  how  dare 
he?  Are  a few  peaceable  days  to  be  purchased  at  the  sac- 
rifice of  eternal  truth? 

And  so  the  division  has  taken  place  between  us  and  the 
Swiss. 

My  Gretchen  perplexed  me  the  other  day,  when  we 
were  coming  from  the  city  church,  where  Dr.  Luther  had 
been  preaching  against  the  Anabaptists  and  the  Swiss, 
whom  he  will  persist  in  classing  together,  by  saying: 

“ Mother,  is  not  Uncle  Winkelried  a Swiss,  and  is  he  not 
a good  man?” 

“Of  course  Uncle  Conrad  is  a good  man,  Gretchen,” 
rejoined  our  Fritz,  who  had  just  returned  from  a visit  to 
Atlantis  and  Conrad.  “How  can  you  ask  such  questions?” 
“But  he  is  a Swiss,  and  Dr.  Luther  said  we  must  take 
care  not  to  be  like  the  Swiss,  because  they  say  wicked 
things  about  the  holy  sacraments.” 

“I  am  sure  Uncle  Conrad  does  not  say  wicked  things,” 
retorted  Fritz,  vehemently.  “I  think  he  is  almost  the  best 
man  I ever  saw.  Mother,”  he  continued,  “ why  does  Dr. 
Luther  speak  so  of  the  Swiss?” 

“ You  see,  Fritz,”  I said,  “Dr.  Luther  never  stayed  six 
months  among  them  as  you  did;  and  so  he  has  never  seen 
how  good  they  are  at  home.” 

“Then,”  rejoined  Fritz,  sturdily,  “if  Dr.  Luther  has  not 
seen,  I do  not  think  he  should  speak  so  of  them.” 

I was  driven  to  have  recourse  to  maternal  authority  to 
close  the  discussion,  reminding  Fritz  that  he  was  a little 
boy,  and  could  not  pretend  to  judge  of  good  and  great  men 
like  Dr.  Luther.  But,  indeed,  I Could  not  help  half  agree- 
ing with  the  child.  It  was  impossible  to  make  him  under- 
stand how  Dr.  Luther  has  fought  his  way  inch  by  inch  to 
the  freedom  in  which  we  now  stand  at  ea^e;  how  he  detests 
the  Zwinglian  doctrines,  not  so  much  for  themselves,  as 
for  what  he  thinks  they  imply.  How  will  it  be  possible  to 
make  our  children,  who  enter  on  the  peaceful  inheritance 
so  dearly  won,  understand  the  rough,  soldierly  vehemence, 
of  the  warrior  race,  who  reconquered  that  inheritance  for 
them? 

As  Dr.  Luther  says,  “It  is  not  a little  thing  to  change 
the  whole  religion  and  doctrine  of  the  papacy.  How  hard 
it  has  been  to  me,  they  will  see  in 'that  Day.  Now  no  one 
believes  it!” 


378 


THE  SCHONBEllG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


God  appointed  David  to  fight  the  wars  of  Israel,  and 
Solomon  to  build  the  temple.  Dr.  Luther  has  had  to  do 
both.  What  wonder  if  the  hand  of  the  soldier  can  some- 
times be  traced  in  the  work  of  peace! 

Yet,  why  should  I perplex  myself  about  this?  Soon, 
too  soon,  death  will  come,  and  consecrate  the  virtues  of 
our  generation  to  our  children,  and  throw  a softening  veil 
over  our  mistakes. 

Even  pow  that  Dr.  Luther  is  absent  from  us  at  Coburg, 
in  the  castle  there,  how  precious  his  letters  are;  and  how 
doubly  sacred  the  words  preached  to  us  last  Sunday  from 
the  pulpit,  now  that  to-morrow  we  are  not  to  hear  him. 

He  is  placed  in  the  castle  at  Coburg,  in  order  to  be 
nearer  the  Diet  at  Augsburg,  so  as  to  aid  Dr.  Melancthon, 
who  is  there,  with  his  counsel.  The  elector  dare  not  trust 
the  royal  heart  and  straightforward  spirit  of  our  Luther 
among  the  prudent  diplomatists  at  the  Diet. 

Mistress  Luther  is  having  a portrait  taken  of  their  little 
Magdalen,  who  is  now  a year  old,  and  especially  dear  to 
the  doctor,  to  send  to  him  in  the  fortress. 

June,  1530. 

Letters  have  arrived  from  and  about  Dr.  Luther.  His 
father  is  dead — the  brave,  persevering,  self-denying,  truth- 
ful old  man,  who  had  stamped  so  much  of  his  own  character 
on  his  son.  “It  is  meet  I should  mourn  such  a parent,” 
Luther  writes,  “who  through  the  sweat  of  his  brow  had 
nurtured  and  educated  me,  and  made  me  what  I am.”  He 
felt  it  keenly,  especially  since  he  could  not  be  with  his 
father  at  the  last;  although  he  gives  thanks  that  he  lived 
in  these  times  of  light,  and  departed  strong  in  the  faith  of 
Christ.  Dr.  Luther’s  secretary  writes,  however,  that  the 
portrait  of  his  little  Magdalen  comforts  him  much.  He 
has  hung  it  on  the  wall  opposite  to  the  place  where  he  sits 
at  meals. 

Dr.  Luther  is  now  the  eldest  of  his  race.  He  stands  in 
the  foremost  rank  of  the  generations  slowly  advancing  to 
confront  death. 

To-day  I have  been  sitting  with  Mistress  Luther  in  the 
garden  behind  the  Augustei,  under,  the  shade  of  the  pear 
tree,  where  she  so  often  sits  beside  the  doctor.  Our  chil- 
dren were  playing  around  us — her  little  Hanschen  with  the 
boys,  while  the  little  Magdalen  sat  cooing  like  a dove  over 


THE  SCHONBER Q-GO TTA  FAMILY.  379 

some  flowers,  which  she  was  pulling  to  pieces  on  the  grass 
at  our  feet. 

She  talked  to  me  much  about  the  doctor;  how  dearly 
he  loves  the  little  ones,  and  what  lessons  of  divine  love 
and  wisdom  he  learns  from  their  little  plays. 

He  says  often,  that  beautiful  as  all  God’s  works  are, 
little  children  are  the  fairest  of  all;  that  the  dear  angels 
especially  watch  over  them.  He  is  very  tender  with  them, 
and  says  sometimes  they  are  better  theologians  than  he  is, 
for  they  trust  God.  Deeper  prayers  and  higher  theology 
he  never  hopes  to  reach  than  the  first  the  little  ones  learn 
— the  Lord’s  Prayer  and  the  Catechism.  Often,  she  said, 
he  says  over  the  Catechism,  to  remind  himself  of  all  the 
treasures  of  faith  we  possess. 

It  is  delightful  too,  she  says,  to  listen  to  the  heavenly 
theology  he  draws  from  birds  and  leaves  and  flowers,  and 
the  commonest  gifts  of  God  or  events  of  life.  At  table,  a 
dish  of  fruit  will  open  to  him  a whole  volume  of  God’s 
bounty,  on  which  he  will  discourse.  Or,  taking  a rose  in 
his  hand,  he  will  say,  “A  man  who  could  make  one  rose  like 
this  would  be  accounted  most  wonderful;  and  God  scatters 
countless  such  flowers  around  us!  But  the  very  infinity 
of  his  gifts  makes  us  blind  to  them.” 

And  one  evening,  he  said  of  a little  bird,  warbling  its 
last  little  song  before  it  went  to  roost,  “Ah,  dear  little 
bird!  he  has  chosen  his  shelter,  and  is  quietly  rocking  him- 
self to  sleep,  without  a care  for  to-morrow’s  lodging; 
calmly  holding  by  his  little  twig,  and  leaving  God  to  think 
for  him.”  0 

In  spring  he  loves  to  direct  her  attention  to  the  little 
points  and  tufts  of  life  peeping  everywhere  from  the  brown 
earth  or  the  bare  branches.  “Who,”  he  said,  “that  had 
never  witnessed  a spring-time  would  have  guessed,  two 
months  since,  that  these  lifeless  branches  held  concealed 
all  that  hidden  power  of  life?  It  will  be  thus  with  us  at 
the  resurrection.  God  writes  his  gospel,  not  in  the  Bible 
alone,  but  in  trees,  and  flowers,  and  clouds,  and  stars.” 
And  thus  to  Mistress  Luther  that  little  garden,  with  his 
presence  and  his  discourse,  has  become  like  an  illuminated 
Gospel  and  Psalter. 

I ventured  to  ask  her  some  questions,  and,  among  others, 
if  she  had  ever  heard  him  speak  of  using  a form  of  words 
in  prayer.  She  said  she  had  once  heard  him  say  “ we 


380 


THE  SCHONBEllQ-COTT A FAMILY. 


might  use  forms  of  words  in  private  prayer  until  the  wings 
and  feathers  of  our  souls  are  grown,  that  we  may  soar 
freely  upward  into  the  pure  air  of  God’s  presence.”  But 
his  prayers,  she  says,  are  sometimes  like  the  trustful  plead- 
ings of  his  little  boy  Hanschen  with  him;  and  sometimes 
like  the  wrestling  of  a giant  in  an  agony  of  conflict. 

She  said,  also,  that  she  often  thanks  God  for  the  doc- 
tor’s love  of  music.  When  his  mind  and  heart  have  been 
strained  to  the  utmost,  music  seems  to  be  like  a bath  of 
pure  fresh  water  to  his  spirit,  bracing  and  resting  it  at  once. 

I indeed  have  myself  heard  him  speak  of  this,  when  I 
have  been  present  at  the  meetings  he  has  every  week  at  his 
house  for  singing  in  parts.  “The  devil,”  he  says — “that 
lost  spirit — cannot  endure  sacred  songs  of  joy.  Our  pas- 
sions and  impatiences,  our  complainings  and  our  cryings, 
our  Alas!  and  our  Woe  is  me!  please  him  well;  but  our 
songs  and  psalms  vex  him  and  grieve  him  sorely.” 

Mistress  Luther  told  me  she  had  many  an  anxious  hour 
about  the  doctor’s  health.  He  is  often  so  sorely  pressed 
with  work  and  care;  and  he  has  never  recovered  the  weak- 
ening effects  of  his  early  fasts  and  conflicts. 

His  tastes  and  habits  at  table  are  very  abstemious.  His 
favorite  dishes  are  herrings  and  pease-soup;  and  when 
engrossed  with  any  especial  work,  he  would  forget  or  go 
without  his  meals  altogether  if  she  did  not  press  him  to 
take  them.  When  writing  his  Commentary  on  the 
Twenty-second  Psalm,  he  shut  himself  up  for  three  days 
with  nothing  but  bread  and  salt;  until,  at  last,  she  had  to 
send  for  a locksmith  to  breafr  open  the  door,  when  they 
found  him  absorbed  in  meditation. 

And  yet,  with  all  his  deep  thoughts  and  his  wide  cares, 
like  a king’s  or  an  archbishop’s,  he  enters  into  his  chil- 
dren’s games  as  if  he  were  a boy;  and  never  fails,  if  he  is 
at  a fair  on  his  travels,  to  bring  the  little  ones  home  some 
gift  for  a fairing. 

She  showed  me  a letter  she  had  just  received  from  him 
from  Coburg,  for  his  little  son  Hanschen.  She  allowed  me 
to  copy  it.  It  was  written  thus: 

“Grace  and  peace  in  Christ  to  my  heartily  dear  little 
eon.  I see  gladly  that  thou  learnest  well  and  prayest 
earnestly.  Do  thus,  my  little  son,  and  go  on.  When  I 
come  home  I will  bring  thee  a beautiful  fairing.  I know 
a pleasant  garden,  wherein  many  children  walk  about. 


THE  SGHONB ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY . 


381 


They  have  little  golden  coats,  and  pick  up  beautiful  apples 
under  the  trees,  and  pears,  cherries  and  plums.  They 
dance  and  are  merry,  and  have  also  beautiful  little  ponies, 
with  golden  reins  and  silver  saddles.  Then  I asked  the 
man  whose  the  garden  is,  whose  children  those  were.  He 
said,  ‘These  are  the  children  who  love  to  pray,  who  learn 
their  lessons,  and  are  good.’  Then  I said,  ‘Dear  man,  I 
also  have  a little  son;  he  is  called  Hansichen  Luther. 
Might  not  he  also  come  into  the  garden,  that  he  might  eat 
such  apples  and  pears,  and  ride  on  such  beautiful  little 
ponies,  and  play  with  these  children?’  Then  the  man 
said,  ‘If  he  loves  to  pray,  learns  his  lessons,  and  is  good, 
he  also  shall  come  into  the  garden — Lippus  and  Tost  also 
(the  little  sons  of  Melancthon  and  Justus  Jonas);  and 
when  they  all  come  together,  they  also  shall  have  pipes, 
drums,  lutes,  and  all  kinds  of  music;  and  shall  dance,  and 
shoot  with  little  bows  and  arrows.’ 

“And  he  showed  me  there  a fair  meadow  in  the  garden, 
prepared  for  dancing.  There  were  many  pipes  of  pure 
gold,  drums,  and  silver  bows  and  arrows.  But  it  was  still 
early  in  the  day,  so  that  the  children  had  not  had  their 
breakfast.  Therefore  I could  not  wait  for  the  dancing, 
and  said  to  the  man,  ‘Ah,  dear  sir,  I will  go  away  at  once, 
and  write  all  this  to  my  little  son  Hansichen,  that  he  may 
be  sure  to  pray  and  to  learn  well,  and  be  good,  that  he  also 
may  come  into  this  garden.  But  he  has  a dear  aunt, 
Lena;  he  must  bring  her  with  him.’  Then  said  the  man, 
‘Let  it  be  so;  go  and  write  him  thus.’ 

“Therefore,  my  dear  little  son  Hansichen,  learn  thy 
lessons,  and  pray  with  a cheerful  heart;  and  tell  all  this  to 
Lippus  and  Justus  too,  that  they  also  may  learn  their 
lessons  and  pray.  So  shall  you  all  come  together  into  this 
garden.  Herewith  I commend  you  to  the  Almighty  God ; 
and  greet  Aunt  Lena,  and  give  her  a kiss  from  me.  Thy 
dear  father,  Martik  Luther.” 

Some  who  have  seen  this  letter  say  it  is  too  trifling  for 
such  serious  subjects.  But  heaven  is  not  a grim  and  aus- 
tere, but  a most  bright  and  joyful  place;  and  Dr.  Luther 
is  only  telling  the  child  in  his  own  childish  language  what 
a happy  place  it  is.  Does  not  God  our  heavenly  Father  do 
even  so  with  us? 

I should  like  to  have  seen  Dr.' Luther  turn  from  his 


382 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


grave  letters  to  princes  and  doctors  about  the  great  Augs- 
burg Confession,  which  they  are  now  preparing,  to  write 
these  loving  words  to  his  little  ’Hans.  No  wonder  Cath- 
erine Lutherin,  Doctress  Luther,  mea  dominus  Ketha,  “my 
lord  Kathe,”  as  he  calls  her,  is  a happy  woman.  Happy 
for  Germany  that  the  Catechism  in  which  our  children 
learn  the  first  elements  of  divine  truth,  grew  out  of  the 
fatherly  heart  of  Luther,  instead  of  being  put  together  by 
a diet  or  a general  council. 

One  more  letter  I have  copied,  because  my  children  were 
so  interested  in  it.  Dr.  Luther  finds  at  all  times  great 
delight  in  the  songs  of  birds.  The  letter  I have  copied 
was  written  on  the  28th  April,  to  his  friends  who  meet 
around  his  table  at  home. 

“Grace  and  peace  in  Christ,  dear  sirs  and  friends!  I 
have  received  all  your  letters,  and  understand  how  things 
are  going  on  with  you.  That  you,  on  the  other  hand, 
may  understand  how  things  are  going  on  here,  I would 
have  you  know  that  we,  namely,  I,  Master  Veit,  and 
Cyriacus,  are  not  going  to  the  Diet  at  Augsburg.  We 
have,  however,  another  diet  of  our  own  here. 

“Just  under  our  window  there  is  a grove  like  a little 
forest,  where  the  choughs  and  crows  have  convened  a diet, 
and  there  is  such  a riding  hither  and  thither,  such  an 
incessant  tumult,  day  and  night,  as  if  they  were  all  merry, 
and  mad  with  drinking.  Young  and  old  chatter  together, 
until  I wonder  how  their  breath  can  hold  out  so  long.  I 
should  like  to  know  if  any  of  those  nobles  and  cavaliers  are 
with  you;  it  seems  to  me  they  must  be  gathered  here  otit 
of  the  whole  world. 

“I  have  not  yet  seen  their  emperor,  but  their  great  peo- 
ple are  always  strutting  and  prancing  before  our  eyes,  not, 
indeed,  in  costly  robes,  but  all  simply  clad  in  one  uniform, 
all  alike  black,  and  all  alike  gray-eyed,  all  singing  one  song, 
only  with  the  most  amusing  varieties  between  young  and 
old,  and  great  and  small.  They  are  not  careful  to  have  a 
great  palace  and  hall  of  assembly,  for  their  hall  is  vaulted 
with  the  beautiful,  broad  sky,  their  floor  is  the  field,  strewn 
with  fair,  green  branches,  and  their  walls  reach  as  far  as 
the  ends  of  the  world.  Neither  do  they  require  steeds  and 
armor;  they  have  feathered  wheels  with  which  they  fly 
from  shot  and  danger.  They  are,  doubtless,  great  and 


TEE  SCIWN BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


383 

mighty  lords,  but  what  they  are  debating  I do  not  yet 
know. 

“As  far,  however,  as  I understand  through  an  inter- 
preter, they  are  planning  a great  foray  and  campaign 
against  the  wheat,  barley,  oats,  and  all  kinds  of  grain,  and 
many  a knight  will  win  his  spurs  in  this  war,  and  many  a 
brave  deed  will  be  done. 

“ Thus  we  sit  here  in  our  diet,  and  hear  and  listen  with 
great  delight,  and  learn  how  the  princes  and  lords,  with  all 
the  other  estates  of  the  empire,  sing  and  live  so  merrily. 
But  our  especial  pleasure  is  to  see  how  cavalierly  they  pair 
about,  whet  their  beaks,  and  furbish  their  armor,  that 
they  may  win  glory  and  victory  from  wheat  and  oats.  We 
wish  them  health  and  wealth,  and  that  they  may  all  at 
once  be  impaled  on  a quickset  hedge! 

“ For  I hold  they  are  nothing  better  than  sophists  and 
papists  with  their  preaching  and  writing;  and  I should 
like  to  have  these  also  before  me  in  our  assembly,  that  I 
might  hear  their  pleasant  voices  and  sermons,  and  see  what 
a useful  people  they  are  to  devour  all  that  is  on  the  face 
of  the  earth,  and  afterward  chatter  no  one  knows  how  long! 

“To-day  we  have  heard  the  first  nightingale,  for  they 
would  not  trust  April.  We  have  had  delightful  weather 
here,  no  rain,  except  a little  yesterday.  With  you,  per- 
haps, it  is  otherwise.  Herewith  I commend  you  to  God. 
Keep  house  well.  Given  from  the  Diet  of  the  grain- 
Turks,  the  28th  of  April,  anno  1530. 

“Martinus  Luther.” 

Yet,  peaceful  and  at  leisure  as  he  seems,  Gottfried  says 
the  whole  of  Germany  is  bearing  now  once  more  on  the 
strength  of  that  faithful  heart. 

The  Boman  diplomatists  again  and  again  have  all  but 
persuaded  Melancthon  to  yield  everything  for  peace;  and, 
but  for  the  firm  and  faithful  words  which  issue  from  “this 
wilderness,”  as  Luther  calls  the  Coburg  fortress,  Gottfried 
believes  all  might  have  gone  wrong.  Severely  and  mourn- 
fully has  Dr.  Luther  been  constrained  to  write  more  than 
once  to  “Philip  Pusillanimity,”  demanding  that  at  least  he 
should  not  give  up  the  doctrine  of  justification  by  faith, 
and  abandon  all  to  the  decision  of  bishops! 

It  is  faith  which  gives  Luther  this  clearness  of  vision. 
“It  is  God’s  word  and  cause,”  he  writes,  “therefore  our 


884 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


prayer  is  certainly  heard,  and  already  he  has  determined 
and  prepared  the  help  that  shall  help  us.  This  cannot  fail. 
For  he  says,  4 Gan  a woman  forget  her  sucking  child,  that 
she  should  not  have  compassion  on  the  son  of  her  womb? 
yea,  they  may  forget,  yet  will  I not  forget  thee.  See,  I 
nave  graven  thee  on  "the  palms  of  my  hands.5  I have 
lately  seen  two  miracles,55  he  continues;  “the  first,  as  I was 
looking  out  of  my  window  and  saw  the  stars  in  heaven,  and 
all  that  beautiful  vaulted  roof  of  God,  and  yet  saw  no 
pillars  on  which  the  Master  Builder  had  fixed  this  vault; 
yet  the  heaven  fell  not,  but  all  that  grand  arch  stood  firm. 
Now  there  are  some  who  search  for  such  pillars,  and  want 
to  touch  and  grasp  them,  and  since  they  cannot,  they  won- 
der and  tremble  as  if  the  heaven  must  certainly  fall,  for  no 
other  reason  but  because  they  cannot  touch  and  grasp  its 
pillars.  If  they  could  lay  hold  on  those,  think  they,  then 
the  heaven  would  stand  firm! 

“ The  second  miracle  was — I saw  great  clouds  rolling 
over  us,  with  such  a ponderous  weight  that  they  might  be 
compared  to  a great  ocean,  and  yet  I saw  no  foundation 
on  which  they  rested  or  were  based,  nor  any  shore  which 
kept  them  back;  yet  they  fell  not  on  us,  but  frowned  on 
us  with  a stern  countenance  and  fled.  But  when  they  had 
passed  by,  then  shone  forth  both  their  foundation  and  our 
roof  which  had  kept  them  back — the  rainbow!  Yet  that 
was  indeed  a weak,  thin,  slight  foundation  and  roof,  which 
soon  melted  away  into  the  clouds,  and  was  more  like  a 
shadowy  prism,  such  as  we  see  through  colored  glass,  than 
a strong  and  firm  foundation;  so  that  we  might  well  distrust 
that  feeble  dike  which  kept  back  that  terrible  weight  of 
waters.  Yet  we  found,  in  fact,  that  this  unsubstantial 
prism  could  bear  up  the  weight  of  waters,  and  that  it 
guards  us  safely.  But  there  are  some  who  look  rather  at 
the  thickness  and  massy  weight  of  the  waters  and  clouds, 
than  at  this  thin,  slight,  narrow  bow  of  promise.  They 
would  like  to  feel  the  strength  of  that^shadowy,  evanescent 
arch,  and  because  they  cannot  do  this,  they  are  ever  fear- 
ing that  the  clouds  will  bring  back  the  deluge.55 

Heavenly  Father,  since  one  man  who  trusts  thy  word 
can  thus  uphold  a nation,  what  could  not  thy  word  do  for 
each  of  us  if  we  would  each  of  us  thus  trust  it,  and  thee 
who  speakest  it! 


THE  8GH0NBER0-C0 TTA  FAMILY. 


385 


thekla’s  story. 

Wittenberg,  1540, 

The  time  I used  to  dread  most  of  all  in  my  life,  after 
that  great  bereavement  which  laid  it  waste,  is  come.  I am 
in  the  monotonous  level  of  solitary  middle  age.  The 
sunny  homes  of  childhood,  and  even  the  joyous  breezy 
slopes  of  youth,  are  almost  out  of  sight  behind  me;  and  the 
snowy  heights  of  reverend  age,  from  which  we  can  look  over 
into  the  promised  land  beyond,  are  almost  as  far  before  me. 
Other  lives  have  grown 4from  the  bubbling  spring  into  the 
broad  and  placid  river,  while  mine  is  still  the  little  narrow 
stream  it  was  at  first,  only  creeping  slow  and  noiseless 
through  the  flats,  instead  of  springing  gladly  from  rock  to 
rock,  making  music  wherever  it  came.  Yet  I am  content, 
absolutely,  fully  content.  I am  sure  that  my  life  has  been 
ordered  by  the  highest  wisdom  and  love;  and  that  (as  far 
as  my  faithless  heart  does  not  hinder  it)  God  is  leading  me 
also  on  to  the  very  highest  and  best  destiny  for  me. 

I did  not  always  think  so.  I used  to  fear  that  not  only 
would  this  bereavement  throw  a shadow  on  my  earthly  life, 
but  that  it  would  stunt  and  enfeeble  my  nature  forever; 
that  missing  all  the  sweet,  ennobling  relationships  of  mar- 
ried life,  even  through  the  ages  I should  be  but  an  unde- 
veloped, one-sided  creature. 

But  one  day  I was  reading  in  Dr.  Luther’s  German 
Bible  the  chapter  about  the  body  of  Christ,  the  twelfth  of 
First  Corinthians,  and  great  comfort  came  into  my  heart 
through  it.  I saw  that  we  are  not  meant  to  be  separate 
atoms,  each  complete  in  itself,  but  members  of  a body, 
each  only  complete  through  union  with  all  the  rest.  And 
then  I saw  how  entirely  unimportant  it  is  in  what  place 
Christ  shall  set  me  in  his  body ; and  how  impossible  it  is 
for  us  to  judge  what  he  is  training  us  for,  until  the  body 
is  perfected  and  we  see  what  we  are  to  be  in  it. 

On  the  Duben  Heath  also,  soon  after,  when  I was  walk- 
ing home  with  Else’s  Gretchen,  the  same  lesson  came  to 
me  in  a parable,  through  a clump  of  trees  under  the  shade 
of  which  we  were  resting.  Often,  from  a distance,  we  had 
admired  the  beautiful  symmetry  of  the  group,  and  now 
looking  up  I saw  how  imperfect  every  separate  tree  was,  all 
leaning  in  various  directions,  and  all  only  developed  on  one 
side.  If  each  tree  had  said,  “I  am  a beech  tree,  and  I 
ought  to  throw  out  branches  on  every  side,  like  my  brother 


386 


THE  SGHONBEUG-COTTA  FAMIL  Y . 


standing  alone  on  the  heath,”  what  would  have  become  of 
that  beautiful  clump?  And  looking  up  through  the  green 
interwoven  leaves  to  the  blue  sky,  I said: 

“Heavenly  Father,  thou  art  wise!  I will  doubt  no 
more.  Plant  me  where  thou  wilt  in  thy  garden,  and  let 
me  grow  as  thou  wilt!  Thou  wilt  not  let  me  fail  of  my 
highest  end.” 

Dr.  Luther  also  said  many  things  which  helped  me  from 
time  to  time,  in  conversation  or  in  his  sermons. 

“The  barley,”  he  said,  “must  suffer  much  from  man. 
First,  it  is  cast  into  the  earth  that  it  may  decay.  Then, 
when  it  is  grown  up  and  ripe,  it  is  cut  and  mown  down. 
Then  it  is  crushed  and  pressed,  fermented  and  brewed  into 
beer. 

“Just  such  a martyr  also  is  the  linen  or  flax.  When  it 
is  ripe  it  is  plucked,  steeped  in  water,  beaten,  dried,  hacked, 
spun,  and  woven  into  linen,  which  again  is  torn  and  cut. 
Afterward  it  is  made  into  plaster  for  sores,  and  used  for 
binding  up  wounds.  Then  it  becomes  lint,  is  laid  under 
the  stamping  machines  in  the  paper  mill,  and  torn  into 
small  bits.  From  this  they  make  paper  for  writing  and 
printing. 

“These  creatures,  and  many  others  like  them,  which  are 
of  great  use  to  us,  must  thus  suffer.  Thus  also  must  good, 
godly  Christians  suffer  much  from  the  ungodly  and  wicked. 
Thus,  however,  the  barley,  wine  and  corn  are  ennobled,  in 
man  becoming  flesh,  and  in  the  Christian  man’s  flesh 
entering  into  the  heavenly  kingdom.” 

Often  he  speaks  of  the  “dear,  holy  cross,  a portion  of 
which  is  given  to  all  Christians.” 

“All  the  saints,”  he  said  once,  when  a little  child  of  one 
of  his  friends  lay  ill,  “must  drink  of  the  bitter  cup.  Could 
Mary  even,  the  dear  mother  of  our  Lord,  escape?  All 
who  are  dear  to  him  must  suffer.  Christians  conquer 
when  they  suffer;  only  when  they  rebel  and  resist  are  they 
defeated  and  lose  the  day.” 

He  indeed  knows  what  trial  and  temptation  mean. 
Many  a bitter  cup  has  he  had  to  drink,  he  to  whom  the 
sins,  and  selfishness,  and  divisions  of  Christians  are  per- 
sonal sorrow  and  shame.  It  is  therefore,  no  doubt,  that  he 
knows  so  well  how  to  sustain  and  comfort.  Those,  he 
says,  who  are  to  be  the  bones  and  sinews  of  the  church 
must  expect  the  hardest  blows. 


THE  SCHONBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY . 


387 


Well  I remember  his  saying,  when,  on  the  8th  of  August, 
1529,  before  his  going  to  Coburg,  he  and  his  wife  lay  sick 
of  a fever,  while  he  suffered  also  from  sciatica,  and  many 
other  ailments: 

“ God  has  touched  me  sorely.  I have  been  impatient;  but 
God  knows  better  than  I whereto  it  serves.  Our  Lord 
God  is  like  a printer  who  sets  the  letters  backward , so  that 
here  we  cannot  read  them.  When  ice  are  printed  off  yon- 
der, in  the  life  to  come , we  shall  read  all  clear  and  straight - 
foricard . Meantime  we  must  have  patience.” 

In  other  ways  more  than  I can  number  he  and  his  words 
have  helped  me.  No  one  seems  to  understand  as  he  does 
what  the  devil  is  and  does.  It  is  the  temptation  in  the 
sorrow  which  is  the  thing  to  be  dreaded  and  guarded 
against.  This  was  what  I did  not  understand  at  first  when 
Bertrand  died.  I thought  I was  rebellious,  and  dared  not 
approach  God  till  I ceased  to  feel  rebellious.  I did  not 
understand  that  the  malignant  one  who  tempted  me  to 
rebel  also  tempted  me  to  think  God  would  not  forgive. 
I had  thought  before  of  affliction  as  a kind  of  sanctuary 
where  naturally  I should  feel  God  near.  I had  to  learn 
that  it  is  also  night-time,  even  “the  hour  of  darkness,”  in 
which  the  prince  of  darkness  draws  near  unseen.  As 
Luther  says,  “The  devil  torments  us  in  the  place  where 
we  are  most  tender  and  weak,  as  in  paradise  he  fell  not  on 
Adam,  but  on  Eve.” 

Inexpressible  was  the  relief  to  me  when  I learned  who 
had  been  tormenting  me,  and  turned  to  Him  who  van- 
quished the  tempter  of  old  to  banish  him  now  from  me. 
For  terrible  as  Dr.  Luther  knows  that  fallen  angel  to  be, 
“the  antithesis,”  as  he  said,  “of  the  Ten  Commandments,” 
who  for  thousands  of  years  has  been  studying  with  an 
angel’s  intellectual  power,  “how  most  effectually  to  distress 
and  ruin  man,”  he  always  reminds  us  that,  nevertheless, 
the  devil  is  a vanquished  foe,  that  the  victory  has  not  now 
to  be  won;  that,  bold  as  the  evil  one  is  to  assail  and  tempt 
the  unguarded,  a word  or  look  of  faith  will  compel  him  to 
flee  “like  a beaten  hound.”  It  is  this  blending  of  the  sense 
of  Satan’s  power  to  tempt,  with  the  conviction  of  his  pow- 
erlessness to  injure  the  believing  heart,  which  has  so  often 
sustained  me  in  Dr.  Luther’s  words. 

But  it  is  not  only  thus  that  he  has  helped  me.  He 
presses  on  us  often  the  necessity  of  occupation.  It  is 


388 


THE  SCHO  MB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


better,  he  says,  to  engage  in  the  humblest  work,  than  to 
sit  still  alone  and  encounter  the  temptations  of  Satan. 
“ Oft  in  my  temptations  I have  need  to  talk  even  with  a 
child,  in  order  to  expel  such  thought  as  the  devil  possesses 
me  with;  and  this  teaches  me  not  to  boast  as  if  of  myself 
I were  able  to  help  myself,  and  to  subsist  without  the 
strength  of  Christ.  I need  one  at  times  to  help  me  who 
in  his  whole  body  has  not  as  much  theology  as  I have  in 
one  finger.”  “The  human  heart,”  he  says,  “is  like  a mill- 
stone in  a mill;  when  you  put  wheat  under  it,  it  turns,  and 
grinds,  and  bruises  the  wheat  to  flour;  if  you  put  no  wheat 
it  still  grinds  on,  but  then  it  is  itself  it  grinds  and  wears 
away.  So  the  human  heart,  unless  it  be  occupied  with 
some  employment,  leaves  space  for  the  devil,  who  wriggles 
himself  in,  and  brings  with  him  a whole  host  of  evil 
thoughts,  temptations,  tribulations,  which  grind  away  the 
heart.” 

After  hearing  him  say  this,  I tried  hard  to  find  myself 
some  occupation.  At  first  it  seemed  difficult.  Else 
wanted  little  help  with  her  children,  or  only  occasionally. 
At  home  the  cares  of  poverty  were  over,  and  my  dear 
father  and  mother  lived  in  comfort,  without  my  aid.  I 
used  discontentedly  to  wish  sometimes  that  we  were  poor 
again,  as  in  Else’s  girlish  days,  that  I might  be  needed,  and 
really  feel  it  of  some  use  to  spin  and  embroider,  instead  of 
feeling  that  I only  worked  for  the  sake  of  not  being  ilde, 
and  that  no  one  would  be  the  better  for  what  I did. 

At  other  times  I used  to  long  to  seclude  myself  from  all 
the  happy  life  around,  and  half  to  reproach  Dr.  Luther  in 
my  heart  for  causing  the  suppression  of  the  convents.  In 
a nunnery,  at  least,  I thought  I should  have  been  some- 
thing definite  and  recognized,  instead  of  the  negative, 
undeveloped  creature  I felt  myself  to  be,  only  distinguished 
from  those  around  by  the  absence  of  what  made  their  lives 
real  and  happy. 

My  mother’s  recovery  from  the  plague  helped  to  cure  me 
of  that,  by  reminding  me  of  the  home  blessings  still  left. 
I began,  too,  to  confide  once  more  in  God,  and  I was  com- 
forted by  thinking  of  what  my  grandmother  said  to  me  one 
day  when  I was  a little  girl,  crying  hopelessly  over  a tan- 
gled skein  and  sobbing,  “I  shall  never  untangle  it;” 
“Wind,  dear  child,  wind  on , inch  by  inch,  undo  each  knot 
one  by  one,  and  the  skein  will  soon  disentangle  itself.” 


THE  SGEONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


389 


So  I resolved  to  wind  on  my  little  thread  of  life  day  by 
day,  and  undo  one  little  knot  after  another,  until  now, 
indeed,  the  skein  has  untangled  itself. 

Pew  women,  I think,  have  a life  more  full  of  love  and 
interest  than  mine.  I have  undertaken  the  care  of  a school 
for  little  girls,  among  whom  are  two  orphans,  made  father- 
less by  the  peasants’  war,  who  were  sent  to  us;  and  this 
also  I owe  to  Dr.  Luther.  He  has  nothing  more  at  heart 
than  the  education  of  the  young;  and  nothing  gives  him 
more  pain  than  to  see  the  covetousness  which  grudges  funds 
for  schools;  and  nothing  more  joy  than  to  see  the  little 
ones  grow  up  in  all  good  knowledge.  As  he  wrote  to  the 
Elector  John  from  Coburg  twelve  years  ago: 

“The  merciful  God  shows  himself  indeed  gracious  in 
making  his  Word  so  fruitful  in  your  land.  The  tender 
little  boys  and  maidens  are  so  well  instructed  in  the  Cate- 
chism and  Scriptures,  that  my  heart  melts  when  I see  that 
young  boys  and  girls  can  pray,  believe,  and  speak  better  of 
God  and  Christ  than  all  the  convents  and  schools  could  in 
the  olden  time* 

“Such  youth  in  your  grace’s  land  are  a fair  paradise,  of 
which  the  like  is  not  in  the  world.  It  is  as  if  God  said, 
‘Courage,  dear  Duke  John,  I commit  to  thee  my  noblest 
treasure,  my  pleasant  paradise;  thou  shalt  be  father  over 
it.  For  under  thy  guard  and  rule  I place  it,  and  give  thee 
the  honor  that  thou  shalt  be  my  gardener  and  steward.’ 
This  is  assuredly  true.  It  is  even  as  if  our  Lord  himself 
were  your  grace’s  guest  and  ward,  since  his  Word  and  his 
little  oner  are  your  perpetual  guests  and  wards.” 

For  a little  while  a lady,  a friend  of  his  wife,  resided  in 
his  house  in  order  to  commence  such  a school  at  Witten- 
berg for  young  girls;  and  now  it  has  become  my  charge. 
And  often  Dr.  Luther  comes  in  and  lays  his  hands  on  the 
heads  of  the  little  ones,  and  asks  God  to  bless  them, 
or  listens  while  they  repeat  the  Catechism  or  the  holy 
Scriptures. 

December  25,  1542. 

Okce  more  the  Christmas  tree  has  been  planted  in  our 
homes  at  Wittenberg.  How  many  such  happy  Christian 
homes  there  are  among  us!  Our  Else’s,  Justus  Jonas,  and 
his  gentle,  sympathizing  wife,  who,  Dr.  Luther  says, 
“ always  brings  comfort  in  her  kind,  pleasant  countenance.” 


390  THE  SCHONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY. 

We  all  meet  at  Else’s  home  on  such  occasions  now.  The 
voices  of  the  children  are  better  than  light  to  the  blind 
eyes  of  my  father,  and  my  mother  renews  her  own  maternal 
joys  again  in  her  grandchildren,  without  the  cares. 

But  of  all  these  homes  none  is  happier  or  more  united 
than  Dr.  Luther’s.  His  childlike  pleasure  in  little  things 
makes  every  family  festival  in  his  house  so  joyous;  and  the 
children’s  plays  and  pleasures,  as  well  as  their  little  trou- 
bles, are  to  him  a perpetual  parable  of  the  heavenly  family, 
and  of  our  relationship  to  God.  There  are  five  children  in 
his  family  now;  Hans,  the  first-born ; Magdalen,  a lovely, 
loving  girl  of  thirteen;  Paul,  Martin,  and  Margaretha. 

How  happy  it  is  for  those  who  are  bereaved  and  sorrow- 
ful that  our  Christian  festivals  point  forward  and  upward 
as  well  as  backward;  that  the  eternal  joy  to  which  we  are 
drawing  ever  hearer  is  linked  to  the  earthly  joy  which  has 
passed  away.  Yes,  the  old  heathen  tree  of  life,  which  that 
young  green  fir  from  the  primeval  forests  of  our  land  is 
said  to  typify,  has  been  christened  into  the  Christmas  tree. 
The  old  tree  of  life  was  a tree  of  sorrow,  and  had  its  roots  in 
the  evanescent  earth,  and  at  its  base  sat  the  mournful  Des- 
tinies, ready  to  cut  the  thread  of  human  life.  Nature  ever  re- 
newing herself  contrasts  with  the  human  life  that  blooms  but 
once.  But  our  tree  of  life  is  a tree  of  joy,  and  is  rooted 
in  the  eternal  paradise  of  joy.  The  angels  watch  over  it, 
and  it  recalls  the  birth  of  the  second  man — the  Lord  from 
heaven — who  is  the  life-giving  spirit.  In  it  the  evanescence 
of  Nature,  immortal  as  she  seems,  is  contrasted  with  the 
true  eternal  life  of  mortal  man.  In  the  joy  of  the  little 
ones,  once  more,  thank  God,  my  whole  heart  seems  to 
rejoice;  for  I also  have  my  face  toward  the  dawn,  and  I can 
hear  the  fountain  of  life  bubbling  up  whichever  way  I 
Uirn.  Only,  before  me  it  is  best  and  freshest,  for  it  is 
springing  up  to  life  everlasting. 

December,  1542. 

A shadow  has  fallen  on  the  peaceful  home  of  Dr. 
Lather:  Magdalen,  the  unselfish,  obedient,  pious,  loving 
child — the  darling  of  her  father’s  heart — is  dead;  the  first- 
born daughter,  whose  likeness,  when  she  was  a year  old, 
used  to  cheer  and  delight  him  at  Coburg. 

On  the  5th  of  this  last  September  she  was  taken  ill,  and 
then  Luther  wrote  at  once  to  bis  friend  Marcus  Crodel  to 


THE  SCIIONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


391 


send  his  son  John  from  Torgau,  where  he  was  studying, 
to  see  his  sister.  He  wrote: 

“ Grace  and  peace,  my  Marcus  Orodel.  I request  that 
you  will  conceal  from  my  John  what  I am  writing  to  you. 
My  daughter  Magdalen  is  literally  almost  at  the  point  of 
death — soon  about  to  depart  to  her  Father  in  heaven, 
unless  it  should  yet  seem  fit  to  God  to  spare  her.  But  she 
herself  so  sighs  to  see  her  brother,  that  I am  constrained  to 
send  a carriage  to  fetch  him.  They  indeed  loved  one  an- 
other greatly.  May  she  survive  to  his  coming!  1 do  what 
I can,  lest  afterward,  the  sense  of  having  neglected  any- 
thing should  torment  me.  Desire  him,  therefore,  without 
mentioning  the  cause,  to  return  hither  at  once  with  all 
speed  in  this  carriage;  hither,  where  she  will  either  sleep 
in  the  Lord  or  be  restored.  Farewell  in  the  Lord.” 

Her  brother  came,  but  she  was  not  restored. 

As  she  lay  very  ill,  Doctor  Martin  said: 

“She  is  very  dear  to  me;  but,  gracious  God,  if  it  is  thy 
will  to  take  her  hence,  I am  content  to  know  that  she  will 
be  with  thee.” 

And  a & she  lay  in  the  bed,  he  said  to  her: 

“ Magdalenchen,  my  little  daughter,  thou  wouldst  like 
to  stay  with  thy  father;  and  thou  art  content  also  to  go  to 
thy  Father  yonder.” 

Said  she,  “Yes,  dearest  father;  as  God  wills.” 

Then  said  the  father: 

“Thou  darling  child,  the  spirit  is  willing,  but  the  flesh 
is  weak.” 

Then  he  turned  away  and  said: 

“ She  is  very  dear  to  me.  If  the  flesh  is  so  strong,  what 
will  the  spirit  be?” 

And  among  other  things  he  said: 

“For  a thousand  years  God  has  given  no  bishop  such 
great  gifts  as  he  has  given  me;  and  we  should  rejoice  in 
his  gif te.  I am  angry  with  myself  that  I cannot  rejoice  in 
my  heart  over  her,  nor  give  thanks;  although  now  and 
then  I can  sing  a little  song  to  our  God,  and  thank  him  a 
little  for  all  this.  But  let  us  take  courage;  living  or 
dying,  we  are  the  Lord’s.  ‘ Sive  vivimus , sive  moremur , 
Domini  sumusC  This  is  true,  whether  we  take  ‘Domini’ 
in  the  nominative  or  the  genitive;  we  are  the  Lord’s,  and 
in  him  we  are  lords  over  death  and  life.” 


v 


392 


TEE  SGHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


Then  said  Master  George  Rorer: 

“I  once  heard  your  reverence  say  a thing  which  often 
comforts  me,  namely,  ‘I  have  prayed  our  Lord  God  that  he 
will  give  me  a happy  departure  when  I journey  hence. 
And  he  will  do  it;  of  that  I feel  sure.  At  my  latter  end  I 
shall  yet  speak  with  Christ  my  Lord,  were  it  for  ever  so 
brief  a space.’  I fear  sometimes,”  continued  Master  Rorer, 
“that  I shall  depart  hence  suddenly,  in  silence,  without 
being  able  to  speak  a word.” 

Then  said  Dr.  Martin  Luther: 

“Living  or  dying,  we  are  the  Lord’s.  It  is  equally  so 
whether  you  were  killed  by  falling  downstairs,  or  were 
sitting  and  writing,  and  suddenly  should  die.  It  would 
not  injure  me  if  1 fell  from  a ladder  and  lay  dead  at  its 
foot;  for  the  devil  hates  us  grievously,  and  might  even 
bring  about  such  a thing  as  thaj}.” 

When,  at  last,  the  little  Magdalen  lay  at  the  point  of 
death,  her  father  fell  on  his  knees  by  her  bedside,  wept 
bitterly,  and  prayed  that  God  would  receive  her.  Then 
she  departed,  and  fell  asleep  in  her  father’s  arms.  Her 
mother  was  also  in  the  room,  but  further  olf,  on  account 
of  her  grief.  This  happened  a little  after  nine  o’clock,  on 
the  Wednesday  after  the  nineteenth  Sunday  after  Trinity, 
1542. 

The  doctor  repeated  often,  as  before  said: 

“I  would  desire  indeed  to  keep  my  daughter,  if  our 
Lord  God  would  leave  her  with  me;  for  I love  her  very 
dearly.  But  his  will  be  done;  for  nothing  can  be  better 
than  that  for  her.” 

While  she  still  lived,  he  said  to  her: 

“Dear  daughter,  thou  hast  also  a Father  in  heaven; 
thou  art  going  to  him.” 

Then  said  Master  Philip: 

“ The  love  of  parents  is  an  image  and  illustration  of  the 
love  of  God,  engraven  on  the  human  heart.  If,  then,  the 
love  of  God  to  the  human  race  is  as  great  as  that  of  parents 
to  their  children,  it  is  indeed  great  and  fervent.” 

When  she  was  laid  in  the  coffin,  Dr.  Martin  said : 

“Thou  darling  Lenichen,  how  well  it  is  with  thee!” 

And  as  he  gazed  on  her  lying  there,  he  said: 

“Ah,  thou  sweet  Lenichen,  thou  shalt  rise  again,  and 
shine  like  a star;  yes,  like  the  sun!” 

They  had  made  the  coffin  too  narrow  and  too  short,  and 
he  said : 


THE  SCHONBERG-CO TTA  FAMILY. 


393 


“The  bed  is  too  small  for  thee!  I am  indeed  joyful  in 
spirit,  but  after  the  flesh  I am  very  sad ; this  parting  is  so 
beyond  measure  trying.  Wonderful  it  is  that  I should 
know  she  is  certainly  at  peace,  and  that  all  is  well  with 
her,  and  yet  should  be  so  sad.” 

And  when  the  people  who  came  to  lay  out  the  .corpse, 
according  to  custom,  spoke  to  the  doctor,  and  said  they 
were  sorry  for  his  affliction,  he  said: 

“You  should  rejoice.  I have  sent  a saint  to  heaven; 
yes,  a living  saint!  May  we  have  such  a death!  Such  a 
death  I would  gladly  die  this  very  hour.” 

Then  said  one,  “That  is  true  indeed;  yet  every  one 
would  wish  to  keep  his  own.” 

Dr.  Martin  answered: 

“Flesh  is  flesh,  and  blood  is  blood.  I am  glad  that  she 
is  yonder.  There  is  no  sorrow  but  that  of  the  flesh.” 

To  others  who  came  he  said: 

“Grieve  not.  I have  sent  a saint  to  heaven;  yes,  I have 
sent  two  such  thither!”  alluding  to  his  infant  Elizabeth. 

As  they  were  chanting  by  the  corpse,  “ Lord,  remember 
not  our  former  sins,  which  are  of  old,”  he  said: 

“I  say,  oh  Lord,  not  our  former  sins  only,  nor  only 
those  of  old,  but  our  present  sins;  for  we  are  usurers, 
exactors,  misers.  Yea,  the  abomination  of  the  mass  is 
still  in  the  world !” 

When  the  coffin  was  closed,  and  she  was  buried,  he  said, 
“There  is  indeed  a resurrection  of  the  body.” 

And  as  they  returned  from  the  funeral,  he  said  : 

“My  daughter  is  now  provided  for  in  body  and  soul. 
We  Christians  have  nothing  to  complain  of;  we  know  it 
must  be  so.  We  are  more  certain  of  eternal  life  than  of 
anything  else;  for  God  who  has  promised  it  to  us  for  his 
dear  Son’s  sake,  can  never  lie.  Two  saints  of  my  flesh 
our  Lord  God  has  taken,  but  not  of  my  blood.  Flesh  and 
blood  cannot  inherit  the  kingdom.” 

Among  other  things,  he  said : 

“We  must  take  great  care  for  our  children,  and  especi 
ally  for  the  poor  little  maidens;  we  must  not  leave  it  tc 
others  to  care  for  them.  I have  no  compassion  on  the 
boys.  A lad  can  maintain  himself  wherever  he  is,  if  he 
will  only  work;  and  if  he  will  not  work,  he  is  a scoundrel. 
But  the  poor  maiden-kind  must  have  a staff  to  lean  on.” 
And  again: 


394 


THE  SCHONBERQ-COTTA  FAMIL  Y. 


44  I gave  this  daughter  very  willingly  to  our  God.  After 
the  flesh,  I would  indeed  have  wished  to  keep  her  longer 
with  me;  but  since  he  has  taken  her  hence,  I thank  him.” 

The  night  before  Magdalen  Luther  died,  her  mother 
had  a dream,  in  which  she  saw  two  men  clothed  in  fair 
raiment,  beautiful  and  young,  come  and  lead  her  daughter 
away  to  her  bridal.  When,  on  the  next  morning,  Philip 
Melancthon  came  into  the  cloister,  and  asked  her  how  her 
daughter  was,  she  told  him  her  dream. 

But  he  was  alarmed  at  it,  and  said  to  others: 

“ Those  young  men  are  the  dear  angels  who  will  come 
and  lead  this  maiden  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  to  the 
true  Bridal.” 

And  the  same  day  she  died. 

Some  little  time  after  her  death,  Dr.  Martin  Luther 
said: 

“If  my  daughter  Magdalen  could  come  to  life  again, 
and  bring  with  her  to  me  the  Turkish  kingdom,  I would 
not  have  it.  Oh,  she  is  well  cared  for:  4 Beati  mortui  qwi 
in  Domino  moriunturS  Who  dies  thus,  certainly  has 
eternal  life.  I would  that  I,  and  my  children,  and  ye  all 
could  thus  depart;  for  evil  days  are  coming.  There  is 
neither  help  nor  counsel  more  on  earth,  I see,  until  the 
judgment  day.  I hope,  if  God  will,  it  will  not  be  long 
delayed;  for  covetousness  and  usury  increase.” 

And  often  at  supper  he  repeated,  44 Et  multipicata  sunt 
mala  in  terris.” 

He  himself  made  this  epitaph,  and  had  it  placed  on  his 
Magdalen’s  tomb: 

“ Dormio  cum  sanctis  liic  Magdalena  Lutheri  

v Filia,  et  lioc  strato  tecta  quiesco  meo,  

Filia  mortis  eram,  peccati  semine  nata,  

Sanguine  sed  vivo,  Ckriste,  redempta  tuo.”* 


*A  friend  has  translated  it  thus: — 

“I,  Luther’s  daughter,  Magdalen, 

Here  slumber  with  the  blest; 

. . c . . . . o . . Upon  this  bed  I lay  my  head, 
And  take  my  quiet  rest. 

I was  a child  of  death  on  earth, 

In  sin  my  life  was  given; 

But  on  the  tree  Christ  died  for  me, 

And  now  I live  in  heaven.” 


THE  8CU0NB ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


395 


In  German: 

. . . . “ Here  sleep  I,  Lenichen,  Dr.  Luther’s  little  daughter, 

....  Rest  with  all  the  saints  in  my  little  bed;  

....  I who  was  born  in  sins,  

. . . . And  must  forever  have  been  lost,  

....  But  now  I live,  and  all  is  well  with  me,  . 

Lord  Christ,  redeemed  with  thy  blood.”  

Yet,  indeed,  although  he  tries  to  cheer  others,  he 
laments  long  and  deeply  himself,  as  many  of  his  letters 
show. 

To  Jonas  he  wrote: 

“I  think  you  will  have  heard  that  my  dearest  daughter 
Magdalen  is  born  again  to  the  eternal  kingdom  of  Christ. 
But  although  I and  my  wife  ought  to  do  nothing  but  give 
thanks,  rejoicing  in  so  happy  and  blessed  a departure,  by 
which  she  has  escaped  the  power  of  the  flesh,  the  world, 
the  Turk,  and  the  devil;  yet  such  is  the  strength  of 
natural  affection,  that  we  cannot  part  with  her  without 
sobs  and  groans  of  heart.  They  cleave  to  our  heart,  they 
remain  fixed  in  its  depths — her  face,  her  words — the  looks, 
living  and  dying,  of  that  most  dutiful  and  obedient  child; 
so  that  even  the  death  of  Christ  (and  what  are  all  deaths 
in  comparison  with  that?)  scarcely  can  efface  her  death 
from  our  minds.  Do  thou,  therefore,  give  thanks  to  God 
in  our  stead.  Wonder  at  the  great  work  of  God  who  thus 
glorifies  flesh!  She  was,  as  thou  knowest,  gentle  and 
sweet  in  disposition,  and  was  altogether  lovely.  Blessed 
be  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  who  called  and  chose,  and  has 
thus  magnified  her!  I wish  for  myself  and  all  mine,  that 
we  may  attain  to  such  a death;  yea,  rather,  to  such  a life, 
which  only  I ask  from  God,  the  Father  of  all  consolation 
and  mercy.” 

And  again,  to  Jacob  Probst,  pastor  at  Bremen: 

“My  most  dear  child,  Madgalen,  has  departed  to  her 
heavenly  Father,  falling  asleep  full  of  faith  in  Christ.  An 
indignant  horror  against  death  softens  my  tears.  I loved 
her  vehemently.  But  in  that  day  we  shall  be  avenged  on 
death,  and  on  him  who  is  the  author  of  death.” 

And  to  Amsdorf: 

“Thanks  to  thee  for  endeavoring  to  console  me  on  the 
death  of  my  dearest  daughter.  I loved  her  not  only  for 
that  she  was  my  flesh,  but  for  her  most  placid  and  gentle 
spirit,  ever  so  dutiful  to  me.  But  now  I rejoice  that  she  is 


396 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


gone  to  live  with  her  heavenly  Father,  and  is  fallen  into 
sweetest  sleep  until  that  day.  For  the  times  are  and  will 
he  worse  and  worse;  and  in  my  heart  I pray  that  to  thee, 
and  to  all  dear  to  me,  may  he  given  such  an  hour  of  depar- 
ture, and  with  such  placid  quiet,  truly  to  fall  asleep  in 
the  Lord.  ‘ The  just'  are  gathered , and  rest  in  their  bedsC 
‘For  verily  the  world  is  as  a horrible  Sodom.’  ” 

And  to  Lauterbach: 

“Thou  writest  well,  that  in  this  most  evil  age  death  (or 
more  truly,  sleep)  is  to  be  desired  by  all.  And  although 
the  departure  of  that  most  dear  child  has,  indeed,  no  little 
moved  me,  yet  I rejoice  more  that  she,  a daughter  of  the 
kingdom,  is  snatched  from  the  jaws  of  the  devil  and  the 
world;  so  sweetly  did  she  fall  asleep  in  Christ.” 

So  mournfully  and  tenderly  he  writes  and  speaks,  the 
shadow  of  that  sorrow  at  the  center  of  his  life  overspread- 
ing the  whole  world  with  darkness  to  him.  Or  rather,  as 
he  would  say,  the  joy  of  that  loving,  dutiful  child’s  pres- 
ence being  withdrawn,  he  looks  out  from  his  cold  and 
darkened  hearth,  and  sees  the  world  as  it  is;  the  covetous- 
ness of  the  rich;  the  just  demands,  yet  insurrectionary 
attempts  of  the  poor;  the  war  with  the  Turks  without,  the 
strife  in  the  empire  within;  the  fierce  animosities  of  im- 
pending religous  war;  the  lukewarmness  and  divisions 
among  his  friends.  For  many  years  God  gave  that  feeling 
heart  a. refuge  from  all  these  in  the  bright,  unbroken  circle 
of  his  home.  But  now  the  next  look  to  him  seems  beyond 
this  life;  to  death  which  unveils,  or  to  the  kingdom  of 
truth  and  righteousness,  and  love,  to  each,  one  by  one;  or 
still  more,  to  the  glorious  Advent  which  will  manifest  it  to 
all.  Of  this  he  delights  to  speak.  The  end  of  the  world, 
he  feels  sure,  is  near;  and  he  says  all  preachers  should  tell 
their  people  to  pray  for  its  coming,  as  the  beginning  of  the 
golden  age.  He  said  once:  “Oh  gracious  God,  come  soon 
again ! I am  waiting  ever  for  the  day — the  spring  morn- 
ing, when  day  and  night  are  equal,  and  the  clear,  bright 
rose  of  that  dawn  shall  appear.  From  that  glow  of  morn- 
ing I imagine  a thick,  black  cloud  will  issue,  forked  with 
lightning,  and  then  a crash,  and  heaven  and  earth  will 
fall.  Praise  be  to  God,  who  has  taught  us  to  long  and 
look  for  that  day.  In  the  papacy,  they  sing, 


“ ‘ Dies  irae,  dies  ilia;  ’ 


THE  SCHON BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


397 

but  we  look  forward  to  it  with  hope;  and  I trust  it  is  not 
far  distant.” 

Yet  he  is  no  dreamer,  listlessly  clasping  his  hands  in  the 
night,  and  watching  for  the  dawn.  He  is  of  the  day,  a 
child  of  the  light;  and  calmly,  and  often  cheerfully,  he 
pursues  his  life  of  ceaseless  toil  for  others,  considerately 
attending  to  the  wants  and  pleasures  of  all,  from  the  least 
to  the  greatest;  affectionately  desirous  to  part  with  his 
plate,  rather  than  not  give  a generous  reward  to  a faith- 
ful old  servant,  who  was  retiring  from  his  service;  plead- 
ing the  cause  of  the  helpless;  writing  letters  of  consolation 
to  the  humblest  who  need  his  aid;  caring  for  all  the 
churches,  yet  steadily  disciplining  his  children  when  they 
need  it,  or  ready  to  enter  into  any  scheme  for  their  pleasure. 

Wittenberg,  1545. 

It  seems  as  if  Dr.  Luther  were  as  necessary  to  us  now  as 
when  he  gave  the  first  impulse  to  better  things,  by  affixing 
his  thesis  to  the  .doors  of  Wittenberg,  or  when  the  eyes  of 
the  nation  centered  on  him  at  Worms.  In  his  quiet  home 
he  sits  and  holds  the  threads  which  guide  so  many  lives, 
and  the  destinies  of  so  many  lands.  He  has  been  often 
ailing  lately,  and  sometimes  very  seriously.  The  selfish 
luxury  of  the  rich  burghers  and  nobles  troubles  him  much. 
He  almost  forced  his  way  one  day  into  the  elector’s  cabinet, 
to  press  on  him  the  appropriation  of  some  of  the  confiscated 
church  revenues  to  the  payment  of  pastors  and  school- 
masters; and  earnestly,  again  and  again,  from  the  pulpit, 
does  he  denounce  covetousness. 

“All  other  vices,”  he  says,  “bring  their  pleasures;  but 
the  wretched  avaricious  man  is  the  slave  of  his  goods,  not 
their  master;  he  enjoys  neither  this  world  nor  the  next. 
Here  he  has  purgatory,  and  there  hell;  while  faith  and 
content  bring  rest  to  the  soul  here,  and  afterward  bring 
the  soul  to  heaven.  For  the  avaricious  lack  what  they 
have,  as  well  as  what  they  have  not.” 

Never  was  a heart  more  free  from  selfish  interests  and 
aims  than  his.  His  faith  is  always  seeing  the  invisible 
God;  and  to  him  it  seems  the  most  melancholy  folly,  aa 
well  as  sin,  that  people  should  build  their  nests  in  this 
forest,  on  all  whose  trees  he  sees  the  forester’s  mark  ot 
destruction. 

The  tone  of  his  preaching  has  often  lately  been  reproach- 
ful  and  sad. 


398 


TEE  SCHOJSTB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


Else’s  Gretchen,  now  a thoughtful  maiden  of  three-and- 
twenty,  said  to  me  the  other  day: 

“Aunt  Thekla,  why  does  Dr.  Luther  preach  sometimes 
as  if  his  preaching  had  done  no  good?  Have  not  many  of 
the  evil  things  he  attacked  been  removed?  Is  not  the 
Bible  in  every  home?  Our  mother  says  we  cannot  be  too 
thankful  for  living  in  these  times,  when  we  are  taught  the 
truth  about  God,  and  are  given  a religion  of  trust  and  love, 
instead  of  one  of  distrust  and  dread.  Why  does  Dr.  Luther 
often  speak  as  if  nothing  had  been  done?” 

And  I could  only  say: 

“ We  see  what  has  been  done;  but  Dr.  Luther  only 
knows  what  he  hoped  to  do.  He  said  one  day — ‘If  I had 
known  at  first  that  men  were  so  hostile  to  the  word  of  God, 
I should  have  held  my  peace.  I imagined  that  they 
sinned  merely  through  ignorance.’ 

“I  suppose,  Gretchen,”  I said,  “that  he  had  before  him 
the  vision  of  the  whole  of  Christendom  flocking  to  adore 
and  serve  his  Lord,  when  once  he  had  shown  them  how 
good  he  is.  We  see  what  Dr.  Luther  has  done.  He  sees 
what  he  hoped,  and  contrasts  it  with  what  is  left  undone.” 

THE  MOTHER’S  STORY. 

* I do  not  think  there  is  another  old  man  and  woman  in 
Christendom  who  ought  to  be  so  thankful  as  my  husband 
and  I. 

No  doubt  all  parents  are  inclined  to  look  at  the  best 
side  of  their  own  children;  but  with  ours  there  is  really  no 
other  side  to  look  at,  it  seems  to  me.  Perhaps  Else  has 
sometimes  a little  too  much  of  my  anxious  mind;  but  even 
in  her  tender  heart,  as  in  all  the  others,  there  is  a large 
measure  of  her  father’s  hopefulness.  And  then,  although 
they  have,  perhaps,  none  of  them  quite  his  inventive 
genius,  yet  that  seems  hardly  a matter  of  regret;  because, 
as  things  go  in  the  world,  other  people  seem  so  often,  at 
the  very  goal,  to  step  in  and  reap  the  fruit  of  these  inven- 
tions, just  by  adding  some  insignificant  detail  which  makes 
the  invention  work,  and  gives  them  the  appearance  of 
having  been  the  real  discoverers. 

Not  that  I mean  to  murmur  for  one  instant  against  the 
people  who  have  this  little  knack  of  just  putting  the  fin- 
ishing touch  and  making  things  succeed;  that  also,  as  the 
house-father  says,  is  God’s  gift,  and  although  it  cannot 


THE  SCHONB ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


399 


certainly  be  compared  to  those  great,  lofty  thoughts  and 
plans  of  my  husband’s,  it  has  more  current  value  in  the 
•world.  Not,  again,  that  I would  for  an  instant  murmur 
at  the  world.  We  have  all  so  much  more  in  it  than  we 
deserve  (except,  perhaps,  my  dearest  husband,  who  cares  so 
little  for  its  rewards!)  It  has  been  quite  wonderful  how 
good  every  one  has  been  to  us.  Gottfried  Reichenbach, 
and  all  our  sons-in-law,  are  like  sons  to  us;  and  certainly 
could  not  have  prized  our  daughters  more  if  they  had  had 
the  dowry  of  princesses;  although  I must  candidly  say  I 
think  our  dear  daughters  without  a kreuzer  of  dowry  are 
worth  a fortune  to  any  man..  I often  wonder  how  it  is 
they  are  such  housewives,  and  so  sensible  and  wise  in  every 
way,  when  I never  considered  myself  at  all  a first-rate  man- 
ager. To  be  sure  iheir  father’s  conversation  was  always 
very  improving;  and  my  dear  blessed  mother  was  a store- 
house of  wisdom  and  experience.  However,  there  is  no 
accounting  for  these  things.  God  is  wonderfully  good  in 
blessing  the  humblest  efforts  to  train  up  the  little  ones  for 
him.  We  often  think  the  poverty  of  their  early  years  was 
quite  a school  of  patience  and  household  virtues  for  them 
all.  Even  Christopher  and  Thekla,  who  caused  us  more 
anxiety  at  first  than  the  others,  are  the  very  stay  and  joy 
of  our  old  age;  which  shows  how  little  we  can  foresee  what 
good  things  God  is  preparing  for  us. 

How  I used  at  one  time  to  tremble  for  them  both!  It 
shocked  Else  and  me  so  grievously  to  see  Christopher,  as 
we  thought,  quite  turning  his  back  on  religion,  after  Fritz 
became  a monk;  and  what  a relief  it  was  to  see  him  find  in 
Dr.  Luther’s  sermons  and  in  the  Bible  the  truth  which 
bowed  his  heart  in  reverence,  yet  left  his  character  free  to 
develop  itself  without  being  compressed  into  a mold  made 
for  other  characters.  What  a relief  it  was  to  hear  that  he 
turned,  not  from  religion,  but  from  what  was  false  in  the 
religion  then  taught,  and  to  see  him  devoting  himself  to 
liis  calling  as  a printer  with  a feeling  as  sacred  as  Fritz  to 
his  work  as  a pastor! 

Then  our  Thekla,  how  anxious  I was  about  her  at  one 
time!  how  eager  to  take  her  training  out  of  God’s  hands 
into  my  own,  which  I thought,  in  my  ignorance,  might 
spare  her  fervent,  enthusiastic,  loving  heart  some  pain. 

I wanted  to  tame  down  and  moderate  everything  in  her 
by  tender  warnings  and  wise  precepts.  I wanted  her  to 


400 


THE  SCHONBERQ-COTT A FAMILY. 


love  less  vehemently,  to  rejoice  with  more  limitation,  to 
grieve  more  moderately.  I tried  hard  to  compress  her 
character  into  a narrower  mold.  But  God  would  not 
have  it  so.  I can  see  it  all  now.  She  was  to  love  and 
rejoice,  and  then  to  weep  and  lament,  according  to  the  full 
measure  of  her  heart,  that  in  the  heights  and  depths  to 
which  God  led  her,  she  might  learn  what  she  was  to  learn 
of  the  heights  and  depths  of  the  love  which  extends  beyond 
all  joy  and  below  all  sorrow.  Her  character,  instead  of 
becoming  dwarfed  and  stunted,  as  my  ignorant  hand  might 
have  made  it,  was  to  be  thus  braced,  and  strengthened, 
and  rooted,  that  others  might  find  shelter  beneath  her 
sympathy  and  love,  as  so  many  do  now.  I would  have 
weakened  in  order  to  soften ; God’s  providence  has  strength- 
ened and  expanded  while  softening,  and  made  her  strong 
to  endure  and  pity  as  well  as  strong  xo  feel. 

No  one  can  say  what  she  is  to  us,  the  one  left  entirely 
to  us,  to  whom  we  are  still  the  nearest  and  the  dearest, 
who  binds  our  years  together  by  tne  unbroken  memory  of 
her  tender  care,  and  makes  us  young  in  her  childlike  love, 
and  brings  into  our  failing  life  the  activity  and  interest  of 
mature  age  by  her  own  life  of  active  benevolence. 

Else  and  her  household  are  the  delight  of  our  daily  life; 
Eva  and  Fritz  are  our  most  precious  and  consecrated  treas- 
ures, and  all  the  rest  are  good  and  dear  as  children  can  be; 
but  to  all  the  rest  we  are  the  grandmother  and  the  grand- 
father. To  Thekla  we  are  w father”  and  “ mother”  still, 
the  shelter  of  her  life  and  the  home  of  her  affections. 
Only,  sometimes  my  old  anxious  fears  creep  over  me  when 
I think  what  she  will  do  when  we  are  gone.  But  I have 
no  excuse  for  these  now,  with  ail  those  promises  of  our 
Lord,  and  his  words  about  the  lilies  and  the  birds,  in  plain 
German  in  my  Bible,  and  the  very  same  lilies  and  birds 
preaching  to  me  in  song  as  plain  from  the  eaves  and  the 
garden  outside  my  window. 

Never  did  any  woman  owe  so  much  to  Dr.  Luther  and 
the  Reformation  as  I.  Christopher’s  religion;  Fritz  and 
Eva’s  marriage;  Thekla’s  presence  in  our  home,  instead  oi 
her  being  a nun  in  some  convent-prison;  all  the  love  of  the 
last  months  my  dear  sister  Agnes  and  I spent  togethex 
before  her  peaceful  death;  and  the  great  weight  of  feai 
removed  from  my  own  heart! 

And  yet  my  timid,  ease-loving  nature  will  sometime* 


THE  SCHOHB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


401 


shrink,  not  so  much  from  what  has  been  done,  as  from  the 
way  in  which  it  has  been  done.  I fancy  a little  more  gen- 
tleness might  have  prevented  so  terrible  a breach  between 
the  new  and  the  old  religions;  that  the  peasant  war  might 
have  been  saved;  and  somehow  or  other  (how,  I cannot  at 
all  tell)  the  good  people  on  both  sides  might  have  been  kept  at 
:>ne.  For  that  there  are  good  people  on  both  sides,  nothing 
will  ever  make  me  doubt.  Indeed,  is  not  one  of  our  own 
sons — our  good  and  sober-minded  Pollux — still  in  the  old 
church?  And  can  I doubt  that  he  and  his  devout,  affec- 
tionate little  wife,  who  visits  the  poor  and  nurses  the  sick, 
love  God  and  try  to  serve  him? 

In  truth,  I cannot  help  half  counting  it  among  our 
mercies  that  we  have  one  son  still  adhering  to  the  old  reli- 
gion; although  my  children,  who  are  wiser  than  I,  do  not 
think  so;  nor  my  husband,  who  is  wiser  than  they;  nor 
Dr.  Luther,  who  is,  on  the  whole,  I believe,  wiser  than  any 
one.  Perhaps  I should  rather  say,  that  great  as  the  grief 
is  to  us  and  the  loss  to  him,  I cannot  help  seeing  some 
good  in  our  Pollux,  remaining  as  a link  between  us  and  the 
religion  of  our  fathers.  It  seems  to  remind  us  of  the 
tie  of  our  common  creation  and  redemption,  and  our 
common  faith,  however  dim,  in  our  Creator  and  Redeemer. 
It  prevents  our  thinking  all  Christendom  which  belongs  to 
the  old  religion  quite  the  same  as  the  pagans  or  the  Turks; 
and  it  also  helps  a little  to  prevent  their  thinking  us  such 
hopeless  infidels. 

Besides,  although  they  would  not  admit  it,  I feel  sure 
that  Dr.  Luther  and  the  Reformation  have  taught  Pollux 
and  his  wife  many  things.  They  also  have  a German 
Bible;  and  although  it  is  much  more  cumbrous  than  Dr. 
Luther’s,  and,  it  seems  to  me,  not  half  such  genuine, 
hearty  German,  still  he  and  his  wife  can  read  it;  and  I 
sometimes  trust  we  shall  find  by  and  by  we  did  not  really 
differ  so  very  much  about  our  Saviour,  although  we  may 
have  differed  about  Dr.  Luther. 

Perhaps  I am  wrong,  however,  in  thinking  that  great 
changes  might  have  been  more  quietly  accomplished. 
Thekla  says  the  spring  must  have  its  thunder-storms  as 
well  as  its  sunshine  and  gentle  showers,  and  that  the  stone 
could  not  be  rolled  away  from  the  sepulcher,  nor  the  veil 
rent  in  the  holy  place,  without  an  earthquake. 

Lise’s  Gottfried  says  the  devil  would  never  suffer  his  lies 


402 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


about  the  good  and  gracious  God  to  be  set  aside  without  a 
battle;  and  that  the  dear  holy  angels  have  mighty  wars  to 
wage,  as  well  as  silent  watch  to  keep  by  the  cradles  of  the 
little  ones.  Only  I cannot  help  wishing  that  the  reformers, 
and  even  Dr.  Luther  himself,  would  follow  the  example  of 
the  archangel  Michael  in  not  returning  railing  for  railing. 

Of  one  thing,  however,  I am  quite  sure,  whatever  any 
one  may  say;  and  that  is,  that  it  is  among  our  great 
mercies  that  our  Atlantis  married  a Swiss,  so  that  through 
her  we  have  a link  with  our  brethren,  the  evangelical  Chris- 
tians who  follow  the  Zwinglian  Confession.  I shall  always 
be  thankful  for  the  months  her  father  and  I passed  under 
their  roof.  If  Dr.  Luther  could  only  know  how  they 
revere  him  for  his  noble  work,  and  how  one  they  are  with 
us  and  him  in  faith  in  Christ  and  Christian  love! 

I was  a little  perplexed  at  one  time  how  it  could  be  that 
such  good  men  should  separate,  until  Thekla  reminded  me 
of  that  evil  one  who  goes  about  accusing  God  to  us,  and  us 
to  one  another. 

On  the  other  hand,  some  of  the  Zwinglians  are  severe  on 
Dr.  Luther  for  his  “compromise  with  Rome,”  and  his 
“unscriptural  doctrines,”  as  some  of  them  call  his  teach- 
ings about  the  sacraments. 

These  are  things  on  which  my  head  is  not  clear  enough 
to  reason.  It  is  always  so  much  more  natural  to  me  to 
look  out  for  the  points  of  agreement  than  of  difference; 
and  it  does  seem  to  me,  that  deep  below  all  the  differences 
good  men  often  mean  the  same.  Dr.  Luther  looks,  on  holy 
baptism  in  contrast  with  the  monastic  vows,  and  asserts 
the  common  glory  of  the  baptism  and  Christian  profession 
which  all  Christians  share,  against  the  exclusive  claims  of 
any  section  of  priests  and  monks.  And  in  the  Holy  Sup- 
per, it  seems  to  me  simply  the  certainty  of  the  blessing, 
and  the  reality  of  the  presence  of  our  Saviour  in  the  sacra- 
ment, that  he  is  really  vindicating,  in  his  stand  on  the 
words,  “ This  is  my  body.”  Baptism  represents  to  him  the 
consecration  and  priesthood  of  all  Christians,  to  be  defended 
against  all  narrow  privileges  of  particular  orders;  the  Holy 
Supper,  the  assured  presence  of  Christ,  to  be  defended 
against  all  doubters. 

To  the  Swiss,  on  the  other  hand,  the  contrast  is  between 
faith  and  form,  letter  and  spirit.  This  is,  at  all  events, 
what  my  husband  thinks. 


THE  SGHONB  ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


403 


I wish  Dr.  Luther  would  spend  a few  months  with  om 
Atlantis  and  her  Conrad.  I shall  always  be  thankful  we 
did.  Lately,  the  tone  of  Dr.  Luther’s  preaching  has  often 
been  reproachful  and  full  of  warning.  These  divisions 
between  the  evangelical  Christians  distress  him  so  much. 
Yet  he  himself,  with  that  resolute  will  of  his,  keeps  them 
apart,  as  he  would  keep  his  children  from  poison,  saying 
severe  and  bitter  things  of  the  Zwinglians,  which  sometimes 
grieve  me  much,  because  I know  Conrad  Winkelried’s 
parish  and  Atlantis’  home. 

Well,  one  thing  is  certain;  if  Dr.  Luther  had  been  like 
me,  we  should  have  had  no  Reformation  at  all.  And  Dr. 
Luther  and  the  Reformation  have  brought  peace  to  my 
heart  and  joy  to  my  life,  for  which  I would  go  through 
any  storms.  Only,  to  leave  our  dear  ones  behind  in  the 
storms  is  another  thing! 

But  our  dear  heavenly  father  has  not,  indeed,  called  us 
to  leave  them  yet.  When  he  does  calls  us,  he  will  give  us 
the  strength  for  that.  And  then  we  shall  see  everything 
quite  clearly,  because  we  shall  see  our  Saviour  quite  clearly 
as  he  is,  know  his  love,  and  love  him  quite  perfectly. 
What  that  will  be  we  know  not  yet! 

But  I am  quite  persuaded  that  when  we  do  really  see  our 
blessed  Lord  face  to  face,  and  see  all  things  in  his  light,  we 
shall  all  be  very  much  surprised,  and  find  we  have  some- 
thing to  unlearn,  as  well  as  infinitely  much  to  learn;  not 
Pollux,  and  the  Zwinglians,  and  I only,  but  Dr.  Philip 
Melancthon,  and  Dr.  Luther,  and  all! 

For  the  Reformation,  and  even  Dr.  Luther’s  German 
Bible,  have  not  taken  all  the  clouds  away.  Still,  we  see 
through  a glass  darkly. 

But  they  have  taught  us  that  there  is  nothing  evil  and 
dark  behind  to  be  found  out;  only,  much  to  be  revealed 
which  is  too  good  for  us  yet  to  understand,  and  too  bright 
for  us  yet  to  see. 


PART  XXL 

EVA’S  AND  AGNES’  STOBY. 

Eisleben,  1542. 

Aunt  Else  says  no  one  in  the  world  ought  to  present 
more  thanksgivings  to  God  than  Heinz  and  I,  and  I am 
sure  she  is  right. 


404 


THE  SCHONBER O-GO TTA  FAMILY. 


In  the  first  place,  we  have  the  best  father  and  mother  in 
the  world,  so  that  whenever  from  our  earliest  years  they 
have  spoken  to  us  about  our  Father  in  heaven,  we  have 
had  just  to  think  of  what  they  were  on  earth  to  us,  and 
feel  that  all  their  love  and  goodness  together  are  what  God 
is;  only  (if  we  can  conceive  such  a thing)  much  more.  We 
have  only  had  to  add  to  what  they  are,  to  learn  what  God 
is,  not  to  take  anything  away;  to  say  to  ourselves,  as  we 
think  of  our  parents,  so  kind  in  judging  others,  so  loving, 
so  true,  “God  is  like  that — only  the  love  is  greater  and 
wiser  than  our  father’s,  tenderer  and  more  sympathizing 
than  our  mother’s”  (difficult  as  it  is  to  imagine).  And  then 
there  is  just  one  thing  in  which  he  is  unlike.  His  power 
is  unbounded.  He  can  do  for  us  and  give  to  us  every  bless- 
ing he  sees  it  good  to  give. 

With  such  a father  and  mother  on  earth,  and  such  a 
Father  in  heaven,  and  with  Heinz,  how  can  I ever  thank 
our  God  enough? 

And  our  mother  is  so  young  still ! Our  dear  father  said 
the  other  day,  “her  hair  has  not  a tinge  of  gray  in  it,  but 
is  as  golden  as  our  Agnes’.”  And  her  face  is  so  fair  and 
sweet,  and  her  voice  so  clear  and  full  in  her  own  dear 
hymns,  or  in  talking!  Aunt  Else  says,  it  makes  one  feel 
at  rest  to  look  at  her,  and  that  her  voiec  always  was  the 
sweetest  in  the  world,  something  between  church  music  and 
the  cooing  of  a dove.  Aunt  Else  says  also,  that  even  as  a 
child  she  had  just  the  same  way  she  has  now  of  seeing 
what  you  are  thinking  about — of  coming  into  your  heart, 
and  making  everything  that  is  good  in  it  feel  it  is  under- 
stock, and  all  that  is  bad  in  it  feel  detected  and  slink  away. 

Our  dear  father  does  not,  indeed,  look  so  young;  but  I 
like  men  to  look  as  if  they  had  been  in  the  wars — as  if  their 
hearts  had  been  well  plowed  and  sown.  And  the  gray 
in  his  hair,  and  the  furrows  on  his  forehead — those  two 
upright  ones  when  he  is  thinking — and  the  firm  compres- 
sion of  his  mouth,  and  the  hollow  on  his  cheek,  seem  to  me 
quite  as  beautiful  in  their  way  as  our  mother’s  placid  brow, 
and  the  dear  look  on  her  lips,  like  the  dawn  of  a smile, 
as  if  the  law  of  kindness  had  molded  every  curve. 

Then,  in  the  second  place  (perhaps  I ought  to  have  said 
in  the  first),  we  have  “the  Catechism.”  And  Aunt  Else 
says  we  have  no  idea,  Heinz  and  I,  what  a blessing  that  is 
to  us.  We  certainly  did  not  always  think  it  a blessing 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


405 


when  we  were  learning  it.  But  I begin  to  understand  it 
now,  especially  since  I have  been  staying  at  Wittenberg 
with  Aunt  Else,  and  she  has  told  me  about  the  perplexities 
of  her  childhood  and  early  youth. 

Always  to  have  learned  about  God  as  the  Father  who 
“cares  for  us  every  day” — gives  us  richly  all  things  to  en- 
joy, and  “that  all  out  of  pu*e,  fatherly,  divine  love  and 
goodness;  and  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  that  he  has 
redeemed  me  from  all  sin,  from  death,  and  from  the 
power  of  the  devil,  to  be  his  own — redeemed  me,  not  with 
gold  and  silver,  but  with  his  holy,  precious  blood;”  and  of 
the  Holy  Spirit  that  “he  dwells  with  us  daily,  calls  us  by  his 
Gospel,  enlightens,  and  richly  forgives;”  all  this,  she  says, 
is  the  greatest  blessing  any  one  can  know.  To  have  no 
dark,  suspicious  thoughts  of  the  good  God,  unconsciously 
drunk  in  from  infancy,  to  dash  away  from  our  hearts — Dr. 
Luther  himself  says  we  have  little  idea  what  a gift  that  is 
to  us  young  people  of  this  generation. 

It  used  to  be  like  listening  to  histories  of  dark  days  cen- 
turies ago,  to  hear  Aunt  Else  speak  of  her  childhood  at 
Eisenach,  when  Dr.  Luther  also  was  a boy,  and  used  to 
sing  for  bread  at  our  good  kinswoman  Ursula  Cotta’s  door 
— when  the  monks  and  nuns  from  the  many  high-walled 
convents  used  to  walk  demurely  in  their  dark  robes  about 
the  streets;  and  Aunt  Else  used  to  tremble  at  the  thought 
of  heaven,  because  it  might  be  like  a convent  garden,  and 
all  the  heavenly  saints  like  Aunt  Agnes. 

Our  dear  Great-aunt  Agnes,  how  impossible  for  us  to 
understand  her  being  thus  dreaded!  she  who  was  the  play- 
mate of  our  childhood,  and  used  to  spoil  us,  our  mother 
said,  by  doing  everything  we  asked,  and  making  us  think 
she  enjoyed  being  pulled  about,  and  made  a lion  or  a Turk 
of,  as  much  as  we  enjoyed  it.  How  well  I remember  now 
the  pang  that  came  over  Heinz  and  me  when  we  were  told 
to  speak  and  step  softly,  because  she  was  ill,  and  then, 
taken  for  a few  minutes  in  the  day  to  sit  quite  still  by  her 
bedside  with  picture-books,  because  she  loved  to  look  at 
us,  but  could  not  bear  any  noise.  And  at  last  the  day 
when  we  were  led  in  solemnly,  and  she  could  look  at  us  no 
more,  but  lay  quite  still  and  white,  while  Ave  placed  our 
flowers  on  the  bed,  and  Ave  both  felt  it  too  sacred  and  too 
much  like  being  at  church  to  cry,  until  our  evening  prayer- 
time came,  and  our  mother  told  us  that  Aunt  Agues  did 


406 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


not  need  our  prayers  any  longer,  because  God  had  made 
her  quite  good  and  happy  in  heaven.  And  Heinz  said  he 
wished  God  would  take  us  all,  and  make  us  quite  good  and 
happy  with  her.  But  I,  when  we  were  left  in  our  cribs 
alone,  sobbed  myself  to  sleep.  It  seemed  so  terrible  to 
think  Aunt  Agnes  did  not  want  us  any  more,  and  that  we 
could  do  nothing  more  for  her — she  who  had  been  so  ten- 
derly good- to  us!  I was  so  afraid,  also,  that  we  had  not 
been  kind  enough  to  her,  had  teased  her  to  play  With  us, 
and  made  more  noise  than  we  ought;  and  that  that  was  the 
reason  God  had  taken  her  away.  Heinz  could  not  under- 
stand that  at  all.  He  was  quite  sure  God  was  too  kind; 
and  although  he  also  cried,  he  soon  fell  asleep.  It  was  a 
great  relief  to  me  when  our  mother  came  round,  as  she 
always  did  the  last  thing  to  see  if  we  were  asleep,  and  I 
could  sob  out  my  troubles  on  her  heart,  and  say: 

“Will  Aunt  Agnes  never  want  us  any  more?” 

“Yes,  darling,”  said  our  mother;  “she  wants  us  nowr. 
She  is  waiting  for  us  all  to  come  to  her.” 

“ Then  it  was  not  because  we  teased  her,  and  were  noisy, 
she  was  taken  away?  We  did  love  her  so  very  dearly! 
And  can  we  do  nothing  for  her  now?” 

Then  she  told  me  how  Aunt  Agnes  had  suffered  much 
here,  and  that  our  heavenly  Father  had  taken  her  home, 
and  that  although  we  could  not  do  anything  for  her  now, 
we  need  not  leave  her  name  out  of  our  nightly  prayers, 
because  we  could  always  say,  “ Thank  God  for  taking  dear 
Aunt  Agnes  home!” 

And  so  two  things  were  written  on  my  heart  that  night, 
that  there  was  a place  like  home  beyond  the  sky,  where 
Aunt  Agnes  was  waiting  for  us,  loving  us  quite  as  much 
as  ever,  with  God  who  loved  us  more  than  any  one;  and 
that  we  must  be  as  kind  as  possible  to  people,  and  not  give 
any  one  a moment’s  pain,  because  a time  may  come  when 
they  will  not  need  our 'kindness  any  more. 

It  is  very  difficult  for  me  who  always  think  of  Aunt 
Agnes  waiting  for  us  in  heaven,  with  the  wistful  loving 
look  she  used  to  have  when  she  lay  watching  for  Heinz  and 
me  to  come  and  sit  by  her  bedside,  to  imagine  what  differ- 
ent thoughts  Aunt  Else  had  about  her  when  she  was  a nun. 

But  Aunt  Else  says  she  has  no  doubt  that  Heinz  and  I, 
with  our  teasing,  and  our  noise,  and  our  love,  were  among 
the  chief  instruments  of  her  sanctification.  Yes,  those 


THE  SC  HON  BERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


40? 


days  of  Aunt  Else’s  childhood  appear  as  far  away  from  us 
as  the  days  of  St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary,  who  lived  at  the 
Wartburg,  used  to  seem  from  Aunt  Else.  It  is  wonderful 
to  think  what  that  miner’s  son,  whom  old  John  Reineck 
remembers  carrying  on  his  shoulders  to  the  schoolhouse 
up  the  hill,  here  at  Eisleben,  has  done  for  us  all.  So  com- 
pletely that  grim  old  time  seems  to  have  passed  away. 
There  is  not  a monastery  left  in  all  Saxony,  and  the  pastors 
are  all  married,  and  schools  are  established  in  every  town, 
where  Dr.  Luther  says  the  young  lads  and  maidens  hear 
more  about  God  and  Christianity  than  the  nuns  and 
monks  in  all  the  convents  had  learned  thirty  years  ago. 

Not  that  all  the  boys  and  maidens  are  good  as  they 
ought  to  be.  No;  that  is  too  plain  from  what  Heinz  and 
I feel  and  know,  and  also  from  what  our  dear  father 
preaches  in  the  pulpit  on  Sundays.  Our  mother  says 
sometimes  she  is  afraid  we  of  this  generation  shall  grow  up 
weak,  and  self-indulgent,  and  ease-loving,  unlike  our 
fathers  who  had  to  light  for  every  inch  of  the  truth  they 
hold,  with  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil. 

But  our  dear  father  smiles  gravely,  and  says,  she  need 
not  fear.  These  three  enemies  are  not  slain  yet,  and  will 
give  the  young  generation  enough  to  do.  Besides,  the  pope 
is  still  reigning  at  Rome,  and  the  emperor  is  even  now 
threatening  us  with  an  army,  to  say  nothing  of  the  Turks, 
and  the  Anabaptists,  of  whom  Dr.  Luther  says  so  much. 

I knew  very  little  of  the  world  until  two  years  ago,  and  not 
much,  I am  afraid,  of  myself.  But  when  I was  about  fifteen 
I went  alone  to  s'tay  with  Aunt  Chriemhild  and  Aunt  Else, 
and  then  I learned  many  things  which  in  learning  troubled 
me  not  a little,  but  now  that  they  are  learned  make  me 
happier  than  before,  which  our  mother  says  is  the  way 
with  most  of  God’s  lessons.  Before  these  visits,  I had 
never  left  home;  and  although  Heinz,  who  had  been  away, 
and  was  also  naturally  more  thrown  with  other  people  as  a 
boy  than  I was,  often  told  me  I knew  no  more  of  actual 
life  than  a baby,  I never  understood  what  he  meant. 

• I suppose  I had  always  unconsciously  thought  our  father 
and  mother  were  the  center  of  the  world  to  every  one  as 
well  as  to  us;  and  had  just  been  thankful  for  my  lot  in 
life,  because  I believed  in  all  respects  no  one  else  had  any- 
thing like  it;  and  entertained  a quiet  conviction  that  in  their 
hearts  every  one  thought  the  same.  And  to  find  that  to 


408 


TlIJi  SCHON BERG-COTTA  771 A MIL  Y. 


other  people  our  lot  in  life  seemed  pitiable  and  poor  was  an 
immense  surprise  to  me,  and  no  little  grief. 

We  left  our  old  home  in  the  forest  many  years  since, 
when  Heinz  and  I were  quite  children;  and  it  only  lingered 
in  our  memories  as  a kind  of  Eden  or  fairyland,  where 
among  wild  flowers,  and  green  glades,  and  singing  birds, 
and  streams,  we  made  a home  for  all  our  dreams,  not  ques- 
tioning, however,  in  our  hearts,  that  our  new  home  at  Eis- 
leben  was  quite  as  excellent  in  its  way.  Have  we  not  a 
garden  behind  the  house  with  several  apple  trees,  and  a 
pond  as  large  as  any  of  our  neighbors,  and  an  empty  loft  for 
wet  days — the  perfection  of  a loft — for  telling  fairy  tales 
in,  or  making  experiments,  or  preparing  surprises  of  won- 
derful cabinet  work  with  Heinz’s  tools?  And  has  not  our 
Eisleben  valley  also  its  green  and  wooded  hills,  and  in  the 
forests  around  are  there  not  strange  glows  all  night  from 
the  great  miners’  furnaces  to  which  those  of  the  charcoal 
burners  in  the  Thuringian  forest  are  mere  toys?  And 
are  there  not,  moreover,  all  kinds  of  wild  caverns  and 
pits  from  which  at  intervals  the  miners ' come  forth, 
grimy  and  independent,  and  sing  their  wild  songs  in 
chorus  as  they  come  home  from  work?.  And  is  not  Eis- 
leben Dr.  Luther’s  birthplace?  And  have  we  not  a high 
grammar-school  which  Dr.  Luther  founded,  and  in  which 
our  dear  father  teaches  Latin?  And  do  we  not  hear  him 
preach  once  every  Sunday? 

To  me  it  always  seemed,  and  seems  still,  that  nothing 
can  be  nobler  than  our  dear  father’s  office  of  telling  the 
people  the  way  to  heaven  on  Sundays,  and  teaching  their 
children  the  way  to  be  wise  and  good  on  earth  in  the  week. 
It  was  a shock  to  me  when  I found  every  one  did  not  think 
the  same. 

Not  that  every  one  was  not  always  most  kind  to  me,  but 
it  happened  in  this  way. 

One  day  some  visitors  had  been  at  Uncle  Ulrich’s  castle. 
They  had  complimented  me  on  my  golden  hair,  which 
Heinz  always  says  is  the  color  of  the  princess’  in  the  fairy 
tale.  I went  out  at  Aunt  Chriemhild’s  desire,  feeling  half 
shy  and  half  flattered,  to  play  with  my  cousins  in  the  forest. 
As  I was  sitting  hidden  among  the  trees,  twining  wreaths 
from  the  forget-me-nots  my  cousins  were  gathering  by  the 
stream  below,  these  ladies  passed  again.  I heard  one  of 
them  say; 


THE  SCll ONBEUG-CO TTA  FAMILY. 


409 

“Yes,  she  is  a well-mannered  little  thing  for  a school- 
master’s daughter.” 

“ I cannot  think  where  a burgher  maid— the  Cottas  are 
all  burghers,  are  they  not?  should  inherit  those  little  white 
hands  and  those  delicate  features,”  said  the  other. 

“Poor,  too,  doubtless,  as  they  must  be,”  was  the  reply, 
“one  would  think  she  had  never  had  to  work. about  the 
house,  as  no  doubt  she  must.” 

“ Who  was  her  grandfather?  ” 

“Only  a printer  at  Wittenberg!” 

“Only  a schoolmaster!”  and  “only  a printer!” 

My  whole  heart  was  against  the  scornful  words.  Was 
this  what  people  meant  by  paying  compliments?  Was  this 
the  estimate  my  father  was  held  in  in  the  world — he,  the 
noblest  man  in  it,  who  was  fit  to  be  the  elector  or  the 
emperor?  A bitter  feeling  came  over  me,  which  I thought 
was  affection  and  an  aggrieved  sense  of  justice.  But  love 
is  scarcely  so  bitter,  or  justice  so  fiery. 

I did  not  tell  any  one,  nor  did  I shed  a tear,  but  went  on 
weaving  my  forget-me-not  wreaths,  and  forswore  the  wicked 
and  hollow  world.  Had  I not  promised  to  do  so  long  since, 
through  my  godmother,  at  my  baptism?  Now,  I thought 
I was  learning  what  all  that  meant. 

At  Aunt  Else’s,  however,  another  experience  awaited 
me.  There  was  to  be  a fair,  and  we  were  all  to  go  in  our 
best  holiday  dresses.  My  cousins  had  rich  oriental  jewels 
on  their  bodices;  and  although,  as  burgher  maidens,  they 
might  not,  like  my  cousins  at  the  castle,  wear  velvets,  they 
had  jackets  and  dresses  of  the  stiffest,  richest  silks  which 
Uncle  Reichenbach  had  brought  from  Italy  and  the  East. 

My  stuff  dress  certainly  looked  plain  beside  them,  but 
I did  not  care  in  the  least  for  that;  my  own  dear  mother 
and  I had  made  it  together;  and  she  had  hunted  up  some 
old  precious  stores  to  make  me  a taffetas  jacket,  which,  as 
it  was  the  most  magnificent  apparel  I had  ever  possessed, 
we  both  looked  at  with  much  complacency.  Nor  did  it 
seem  to  me  in  the  least  less  beautiful  now.  The  touch  of 
my  mother’s  fingers  had  been  on  it,  as  she  smoothed  it 
round  me  the  evening  before  I came  away.  And  Aunt 
Else  had  said  it  was  exactly  like  my  mother.  But  my 
cousins  were  not  quite  pleased,  it  was  evident;  especially 
Fritz  and  the  elder  boys.  They  said  nothing;  but  on  the 
morning  of  the  fete , a beautiful  new  dress,  the  counterpart 
of  my  cousin’s,  was  laid  at  my  bedside  before  I awoke. 


410 


THE  8 CHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


I put  it  on  with  some  pleasure,  but,  when  I looked  at 
myself  in  the  glass — it  was  very  unreasonable — I could  not 
bear  it.  It  seemed  a reproach  on  my  mother,  and  on  my 
humble  life  and  my  dear,  poor  home  at  Eisleben,  and  I sat 
down  and  cried  bitterly,  until  a gentle  knock  at  the  door 
aroused  me;  and  Aunt  Else  came  in,  and  found  me  sitting 
with  tears  on  my  face  and  on  the  beautiful  new  dress, 
exceedingly  ashamed  of  myself. 

“Don’t  you  like  it,  my  child?  It  was  Fritz’s  thought. 
I was  afraid  you  might  not  be  pleased.” 

“My  mother  thought  the  old  one  good  enough,”'!  said 
in  a very  faltering  tone.  “It  was  good  enough  for  my 
home.  I had  better  go  home  again.” 

Aunt  Else  was  carefully  wiping  away  the  tears  from  my 
dress,  but  at  these  words  she  began  to  cry  herself,  and 
drew  me  to  her  heart,  and  said  it  was  exactly  what  she 
should  have  felt  in  her  young  days  at  Eisenach,  but  that  I 
must  just  wear  the  new  dress  to  th s fete,  and  then  I need 
never  wear  it  again  unless  I liked;  and  that  I was  right  in 
thinking  nothing  half  so  good  as  my  mother,  and  all  she  did, 
because  nothing  ever  was,  or  would  be,  she  was  sure. 

So  we  cried  together,  and  were  comforted ; and  I wore 
the  green  taffetas  to  the  fair. 

But  when  I came  home  again  to  Eisleben,  I felt  more 
ashamed  of  myself  than  of  the  taffetas  dress  or  of  the  flat- 
tering ladies  at  the  castle.  The  dear,  precious  old  home, 
in  spite  of  all  I could  persuade  myself  to  the  contrary,  did 
look  small  and  poor,  and  the  furniture  worn  and  old.  And 
yet  I could  see  there  new  traces  of  care  and  welcome  every- 
where— fresh  rushes  on  the  floors;  a plain  new  quilt  on 
my  little  bed,  made,  I knew,  by  mv  mother’s  hands. 

She  knjew  very  soon  that  I was  feeling  troubled  about 
something,  and  soon  she  knew  it  all,  as  I told  her  my  bitter 
experiences  of  life. 

“Your  father  ‘only  a schoolmaster!’”  she  said,  “and 
you  yourself  presented  with  a new  taffetas  dress!  Are 
these  all  your  grievances,  little  Agnes?” 

“ All , mother,”  I exclaimed;  “and  07ily!” 

“Is  your  father  anything  else  but  a schoolmaster, 
Agnes?”  she  said. 

“ I am  not  ashamed  of  that  for  an  instant,  mother,”  I said ; 
“you  could  not  think  it.  I think  it  is  much  nobler  to 
teach  children  than  to  hunt  foxes,  and  buy  and  sell  bales 


THE  SCHONBERG-CO  TTA  FA  MIL  Y.  41 1 

of  silk  and  wool.  But  the  world  seems  to  me  exceedingly 
hollow  and  crooked;  and  I never  wish  to  see  any  more  of 
it.  Oh,  mother  do  you  think  it  was  all  nonsense  in  me?” 

“ I think,  my  child,  you  have  had  an  encounter  with  the 
world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil;  and  I think  they  are  no 
contemptible  enemies.  And  I think  you  have  not  left  them 
behind.” 

“ But  is  not  our  father’s  calling  nobler  than  any  one’s, 
and  our  home  the  nicest  in  the  world?”  I said;  “and  Eis- 
leben  really  a^  beautiful  in  its  way  as  the  Thuringian 
forest,  and  as  wise  as  Wittenberg?” 

“All  callings  may  be  noble,”  she  said;  “and  the  one  God 
calls  us  to  is  the  noblest  for  us.  Eisleben  is  not,  I think, 
as  beautiful  as  the  old  forest-covered  hills  at  Gersdorf;  nor 
Luther’s  birthplace  as  great  as  his  dwelling  place,  where 
he  preaches  and  teaches,  and  sheds  around  him  the  influ- 
ence of  his  holy  daily  life.  Other  homes  may  be  as  good  as 
yours,  dear  child,  though  none  can  be  so  to  you.” 

And  so  I learned  that  what  makes  any  calling  noble  is 
its  being  commanded  by  God,  and  wThat  makes  anything 
good  is  its  being  given  by  God;  and  that  honest  content- 
ment consists  not  in  persuading  ourselves  that  our  things 
are  the  very  best  in  the  world,  but  in  believing  they  are 
the  best  for  us,  and  giving  God  thanks  for  them. 

That  was  the  way  I began  to  learn  to  know  the  world. 
And  also  in  that  way  I began  better  to  understand  the  Cat- 
echism, especially  the  part  about  the  Lord’s  Prayer,  and 
that  on  the  second  article  of  the.  Creed,  where  we  learn 
of  Him  who  suffered  for  our  sins  and  redeemed  us  with 
his  holy  precious  blood. 

I have  just  returned  from  my  second  visit  to  Wittenberg, 
which  was  much  happier  than  my  first — indeed,  exceedingly 
happy. 

The  great  delight  of  my  visit,  however,  has  been  seeing 
and  hearing  Dr.  Luther.  His  little  daughter,  Magdalen, 
three  years  younger  than  I am,  had  died  not  long  before, 
but  that  seemed  only  to  make  Dr.  Luther  kinder  than  ever 
to  all  young  maidens — “the  poor  maidenkind”  as  he  calls 
them. 

His  sermons  seemed  to  me  like  a father  talking  to  his 
children;  and  Aunt  Else  says  he  repeats  the  Catechism 
often  himself  “to  God”  to  cheer  his  heart  and  strengthen 
himself— the  great  Dr.  Martin  Luther! 


412 


THE  BCHONB ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


I had  heard  so  much  of  him,  and  always  thought  of  him 
as  the  man  nearest  God  on  earth,  great  with  a majesty 
surpassing  infinitely  that  of  the  elector  or  the  emperor. 
And  now  it  was  a great  delight  to  see  him  in  his  home,  in 
the  dark  wainscoted  room  looking  on  his  garden,  and  to 
see  him  raise  his  head  from  his  writing  and  smile  kindly 
at  us  as  he  sat  at  the  great  table  in  the  broad  window,  with 
Mistress  Luther  sewing  on  a lower  seat  beside  him,  and 
little  Margaretha  Luther,  the  youngest  child,  quietly  play- 
ing beside  them,  contented  with  a look  now7  and  then  from 
her  father. 

I should  like  to  have  seen  Magdalen  Luther.  She  must 
have  beer,  such  a good  and  loving  child.  But  that  will  be 
hereafter  in  heaven! 

I suppose  my  feeling  for  Dr.  Luther  is  different  from 
that  of  my  mother  and  father.  They  knew  him  during 
the  conflict.  "We  only  know  him  as  the  conqueror,  with 
the  palm,  as  it  were,  already  in  his  hand. 

But  my  great  friend  at  Wittenberg  is  Aunt  Thekla.  I 
think,  on  the  whole,  there  is  no  one  I should  more  wish  to 
be  like.  She  understands  one  in  that  strange  way  without 
telling,  like  my  mother.  I think  it  is  because  she  has  felt 
so  much.  Aunt  Else  told  me  of  the  terrible  sorrow  she 
had  when  she  was  young. 

Our  dear  mother  and  father  also  had  their  great  sorrows, 
although  they  came  to  the  end  of  their  sorrow  in  this  life, 
and  Aunt  Thekla  will  only  come  to  the  end  of  hers  in  the 
other  world.  But  it  seems  to  have,  consecrated  them  all, 
I think,  in  some  peculiar  way.  They  all,  and  Dr.  Luther 
also,  make  me  think  of  the  people  who,  they  say,  have  the 
gift,  by  striking; on  the  ground,  of  discovering  where  the 
hidden  sp^gs iie-  that  others  may  know  where  to  dig  for 
the  wrells.^Gan’  sorrow  only  confer  this  gift  of  knowing 
where  to  find  the  hidden  springs  in  the  heart?  If  so,  it 
must  be  worth  while  to  suffer.  Only  there  are  just  one 
or  two  sorrows  which  it  seems  almost  impossible  to  bear. 

But,  as  our  mother  says,  our  Saviour  has  all  the  gifts  in 
his  hands;  and  “the  greatest  gift”  of  all  (in  whose  hands 
the  roughest  tools  can  do  the  finest  work),  “is  love!”  And 
that  is  just  the  gift  any  one  of  us  may  have  without  limit. 

thekla’s  story. 

Wittenberg,  23d  January,  1546. 
Dr.  Luther  has  left  Wittenberg  to-day  for  Eisleben^ 


THE  SOHO N BERG- COTTA  FAMILY. 


413 


his  birthplace,  to  settle  a dispute  between  the  counts  of 
Mansfeld  concerning  certain  rights  of  church  patronage. 

He  left  in  good  spirits,  intending  to  return  in  a few  days. 
His  three  sons,  John,  Martin,  and  Paul,  went  with  him. 
Mistress  Luther  is  anxious  and  depressed  about  his  depar- 
ture, but  we  trust  without  especial  cause,  although  he  has 
often  of  late  been  weak  and  suffering. 

The  dullness  and  silence  which  to  me  always  seem  to 
settle  down  on  Wittenberg  in  his  absence  are  increased  now 
doubtless  by  this  wintry  weather,  and  the  rains  and  storms 
which  have  been  swelling  the  rivers  to  floods.  He  is, 
indeed,  the  true  father  and  king  of  our  little  world;  and 
when  he  is  with  us  all  Germany  and  the  world  seem  nearer 
us  through  his  wide-seeing  mind  and  his  heart  that  thrills 
to  every  touch  of  want  or  sorrow  throughout  the  world. 

February. 

Mistress  Luther  has  told  me  to-day  that  Dr.  Luther 
said  before  he  left  he  could  66  lie  down  on  his  deathbed  with 
joy  if  he  could  first  see  his  dear  lords  of  Mansfeld  recon- 
ciled.” She  says  also  he  had  just  concluded  the  Commen- 
tary on  Genesis,  on  which  he  has  been  working  these  ten 
years,  with  these  words: 

“ 1 am  weak  and  can  do  no  more.  Pray  God  he  may 
grant  me  a peaceful  and  happy  death.” 

She  thinks  his  mind  has  been  dwelling  of  late  more  than 
usual,  even  with  him,  on  death,  and  fears  he  feels  some 
inward  premonition  or  presentiment  of  a speedy  departure. 

So  long  he  has  spoken  of  death  as  a thing  to  be  desired! 
Yet  it  always  makes  our  heart  ache  to  hear  him  do  so.  Of 
the  Advent  as  the  end  of  all  evil  and  the  beginning  of  the 
Kingdom,  we  can  well  bear  to  hear  him  speak,  but  not  of 
that  which,  if  the  end  of  all  evil  to  him,  would  seem  like 
the  beginning  of  all  sorrows  to  us. 

Now,  however,  Mistress  Luther  is  somewhat  comforted 
by  his  letters,  which  are  more  cheerful  than  those  she 
received  during  his  absence  last  year,  when  he  counseled 
her  to  sell  all  their  Wittenberg  property,  and  take  refuge 
in  her  estate  at  Zollsdorf,  that  he  might  know  her  safe  out 
of  Wittenberg — that  “haunt  of  selfishness  and  luxury” — 
before  he  died. 

His  first  letter  since  leaving  Wittenberg  this  time  is 
addressed : 


414 


THE  SC IIO NB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


“To  my  kind  and  dear  Kathe  Lutherin,  at  Wittenberg, 
grace  and  peace  in  the  Lord. 

“Dear  Kathe:  To-day,  at  half-past  eight  o’clock,  we 

reached  Halle  but  have  not  yet  arrived  at  Bisleben;  for  a 
great  Anabaptist  encountered  us  with  water-floods  and 
great  blocks  of  ice,  which  covered  the  land,  and  threatened 
to  baptize  us  all  again.  Neither  could  we  return,  on 
account  of  the  Mulda.  Therefore  we  remain  tranquilly 
here  at  Halle,  between  the  two  streams.  Not  that  we 
thirst  for  water  to  drink,  but  console  ourselves  with  good 
Torgau  beer  and  Khine  wine,  in  case  the  Saala  should  break 
out  into  a rage  again.  For  we  and  our  servants,  and  the 
ferrymen,  would  not  tempt  God  by  venturing  on  the 
water;  for  the  devil  is  furious  against  us,  and  dwells  in  the 
water-floods;  and  it  is  better  to  escape  him  than  to  com- 
plain of  him,  nor  is  it  necessary  that  we  should  become  the 
jest  of  the  pope  and  his  hosts.  I could  not  have  believed 
that  the  Saala  could  have  made  such  a brewing,  bursting 
over  the  causeway  and  all.  Now  no  more;  but  pray  for  us 
and  the  pious.  I hold,  hadst  thou  been  here,  thou  hadst 
counseled  us  to  do  precisely  what  we  have  done.  So  for 
once  we  should  have  taken  thy  advice.  Herewith  I com- 
mend you  to  God.  Amen.  At  Halle,  on  the  day  of  the 
conversion  of  St.  Paul. 

“Martinus  Luther.” 

Four  other  letters  she  has  received,  one  dated  on  the  2d 
of  February,  addressed : 

“To  my  heartily  beloved  consort  Katherin  Lutherin,  the 
Zollsdorfin  doctoress,  proprietress  of  the  Saiimarkt,  and 
whatever,  else  she  may  be,  grace  and  peace  in  Christ;  and 
my  old  poor  (and,  as  I know,  powerless)  love  to  thee! 

“Dear  Kathe:  I became  very  weak  on  the  road  close  to 

Eisleben,  for  my  sins;  although,  wert  thou  there,  thou 
wouldst  have  said  it  was  for  the  sins  of  the  Jews.  For  near 
Eisleben  we  passed  through  a village  where  many  Jews 
reside,  and  it  is  true,  as  I came  through  it,  a cold  wind 
came  through  my  Baret  (doctor’s  hat),  and  my  head,  as  if 
it  would  turn  my  brain  to  ice. 

“Thy  sons  left  Mansfeld  yesterday,  because  Hans  von 
Tene  so  humbly  entreated  them  to  accompany  him.  I 
know  not  what  they  do.  If  it  were  cold,  they  might  help 
me  freeze  here.  Since,  however,  it  is  warm  again,  they 


THE  SCHONBERQ-COTT A FAMILY . 


415 


may  do  or  suffer  anything  else  they  like.  Herewith  I com- 
mend you  and  all  the  house  to  God,  and  greet  all  our 
friends.  Vigilia  purificationis.  ” 

And  again : 

Eisleben. 

“To  the  deeply  learned  lady  Katharin  Luther,  my  gra- 
cious consort,  at  Wittenberg,  grace  and  peace. 

“Dear  Kathe:  We  sit  here  and  suffer  ourselves  to  be 

tortured,  and  would  gladly  be  away;  but  that  cannot  be, 
I think,  for  a week.  Thou  mayest  say  to  Master  Philip 
that  he  may  correct  his  exposition;  for  he  has  not.  yet 
rightly  understood  why  the  Lord  called  riches  thorns. 
Here  is  the  school  in  which  to  learn  that”  (i.  e.,  the  Mans- 
field controversy  about  property).  “But  it  dawns  on  me 
that  in  the  holy  Scriptures  thorns  are  always  menaced 
with  fire;  therefore,  I have  all  the  more  patience,  hoping, 
with  God’s  help,  to  bring  some  good  out  of  it  all.  It  seems 
to  me  the  devil  laughs  at  us;  but  God  laughs  him  to  scorn! 
Amen.  Pray  for  us.  The  messenger  hastes.  On  St. 
Dorothea’s  day. 

“M.  L.  (thy  old  lover.)” 

Dr.  Luther  seems  to  be  enjoying  himself  in  his  own 
simple  hearty  way,  at  his  old  home.  Nobles,  and  burghers, 
and  wives,  give  him  the  most  friendly  welcome. 

The  third  letter  Mistress  Luther  has  received  is  full  of 
playful,  tender  answers  to  her  anxieties  about  him. 

“To  my  dear  consort  Katharin  Jjutherin,  doctoress  and 
self-tormentor  at  Wittenberg,  my  gracious  lady,  grace  and 
peace  in  the  Lord.  Bead  thou,  dear  Kathe,  the  Gospel 
of  John,  and  the  smaller  Catechism,  and  then  thou  wilt 
say  at  once,  ‘All  that  is  in  the  book  is  said  of  me.’  For 
thou  must  needs  take  the  cares  of  thy  God  upon  thee,  as 
if  he  were  not  almighty,  and  could  not  create  ten  Dr. 
Martins,  if  the  old  Dr.  Martin  were  drowned  in  the  Saala. 
Leave  me  in  peace  with  thy  cares ! I have  a better  guardian 
than  thou  and  all  the  angels.  It  is  he  who  lay  in  the 
manger,  and  was  fondled  on  a maiden’s  breast;  but  who 
sitteth  also  now  on  the  right  hand  of  God  the  Almighty 
Father.  Therefore  be  at  peace.” 

And  again : 

“To  the  saintly,  anxious  lady,  Katharin  Lutherin,  Doc- 


416 


THE  8CH0NBERG-C0TTA  FAMILY. 


torin  Zulsdorferin  at  Wittenberg,  my  gracious  dear  wife, 
grace  and  peace  in  Christ  Most  saintly  lady  doctoress: 
We  thank  your  ladyship  kindly  for  your  great  anxiety  and 
care  for  us  which  prevented  your  sleeping;  for  since  the 
time  that  you  had  tins  care  for  us,  a fire  nearly  consumed  us 
in  our  inn,  close  to  my  chamber  door;  and  yesterday  (doubt- 
less by  the  power  of  your  care),  a stone  almost  fell  on  our 
head,  and  crushed  us  as  in  a mouse-trap.  For  in  our  private 
chamber  during  more  than  two  days,  lime  and  mortar 
crashed  above  us,  until  we  sent  for  workmen,  who  only 
touched  the  stone  with  two  fingers,  when  it  fell,  as  large  as 
a large  pillow  two  hand-breadths  wide.  For  all  this  we 
should  have  to  thank  your  anxiety;  had  not  the  dear  holy 
angels  been  guarding  us  also!  I begin  to  be  anxious  that 
if  your  anxieties  do  not  cease,  at  last  the  earth  may  swallow 
us  up,  and  all  the  elements  pursue  us.  Dost  thou  indeed 
teach  the  Catechism  and  the  Creed?  Do  thou  then  pray, 
and  leave  God  to  care,  as  it  is  promised.  ‘Cast  thy  burden 
on  the  Lord,  and  he  shall  sustain  thee.’ 

“We  would  now  gladly  be  free  and  journey  homeward, 
if  God  willed  it  so.  Amen.  Amen.  Amen.  On  Scholas- 
tica’s  day.  The  willing  servant  of  your  holiness, 

“Martin  Luther.” 

February  17. 

Good  news  for  us  all  at  Wittenberg!  Mistress  LutheT 
has  received  a letter  from  the  doctor,  dated  the  14th  Feb- 
ruary announcing  his  speedy  return. 

“ To  my  kind,  dear  wife,  Katherine  Lutherin  von  Bora, 
at  Wittenberg: 

“Grace  and  peace  in  the  Lord,  dedr  Kathe!  We  hope 
this  week  to  come  home  again,  if  God  will.  God  has 
shown  us  great  grace;  for  the  lords  have  arranged  all 
through  their  referees,  except  two  or  three  articles — one  of 
which  is  that  Count  Gebhard  and  Count  Albrecht  should 
again  become  brothers,  which  I undertake  to-day,  and  will 
invite  them  to  be  my  guests,  that  they  may  speak  to  each 
other,  for  hitherto  they  have  been  dumb,  and  have  em- 
bittered one  another  with  severe  letters. 

“The  young  men  are  all  in  the  best  spirits,  make  excur- 
sions with  fools’  bells  on  sledges — the  young  ladies  also — 
and  amuse  themselves  together;  and  among  them  also 


THE  SCI10NB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 417 

Count  Gebhard’s  son.  So  we  must  understand  God  is 
exauditor  precum. 

“I  send  to  thee  some  game  which  the  Countess  Albrecht 
has  presented  to  me.  She  rejoices  with  all  her  heart  at  the 
peace.  Thy  sons  are  still  at  Mansfeld.  Jacob  Luther  will 
take  good  care  of  them.  We  have  food  and  drink  here  like 
noblemen,  and  we  are  waited  on  well — too  well,  indeed — • 
so  that  we  might  forget  you  at  Wittenberg.  I have  no 
ailments. 

“This  thou  canst  show  to  Master  Philip,  to  Dr.  Pomer, 
and  to  Dr.  Creuzer.  The  report  has  reached  this  place 
that  Dr.  Martin  has  been  snatched  away,  as  they  say  at 
Magdeburg  and  at  Liepzig.  Such  fictions  these  countrymen 
compose,  who  see  as  far  as  their  noses.  Some^  say  the  em- 
peror is  thirty  miles  from  this,  at  Soest,  in"  Westphalia; 
some  that  the  Frenchman  is  captive,  and  also  the  Land- 
grave. But  let  us  sing  and  say,  we  will  wait  what  God 
the  Lord  will  do.  Eisleben,  on  the  Sunday  Yalentini. 

“M.  Luther,  D.” 

So  the  work  of  peacemaking  is  done,  and  Dr.  Luther  is 
to  return  to  us  this  week — long,  we  trust,  to  enjoy  among 
us  the  peacemaker’s  beatitude. 

fritz’s  story. 


Eislebeh,  1546. 

It  has  been  quite  a festival  day  at  Eisleben.  The  child 
who,  sixty-three  years  since,  was  born  here  to  John  Luther 
the  miner,  returns  to-day  the  greatest  man  in  the  empire, 
to  arbitrate  in  a family  dispute  of  the  counts  of  Mansfeld. 

As  Eva  and  I watched  him  enter  the  town  to-day  from 
the  door  of  our  humble  happy,  home,  she  said : 

“ He  that  is  greatest  among  you  shall  be  as  he  that  doth 
serve.” 

These  ten  last  years  of  service  have,  however,  aged  him 
much ! 

I could  not  conceal  from  myself  that  they  had.  There 
are  traces  of  suffering  on  the  expressive  face,  and  there  is  a 
touch  of  feebleness  in  the  form  and  step. 

“How  is  it,”  I said  to  Eva,  “that  Else  or  Thekla  did  not 
tell  us  of  this?  He  is  certainly  much  feebler.” 

“They  are  always  with  him,”  she  said,  “and  we  never 


418 


THE  SCHONB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


see  what  Time  is  doing,  love;  but  only  what  he  has  done.” 
Her  words  made  me  thoughtful.  Could  it  be  that  such 
changes  were  passing  on  us  also,  and  that  we  were  failing 
to  observe  them? 

When  Dr.  Luther  and  the  throng  had  passed,  we 
returned  into  the  house,  and  Eva  resumed  her  knitting, 
while  I recommenced  the  study  of  my  sermon;  but  secretly 
I raised  my  eyes  from  my  books  and  surveyed  her.  If  time 
had  indeed  thus  been  changing  that  beloved  form,  it  was 
better  I should  know  it,  to  treasure  more  the  precious  days 
he  was  so  treacherously  stealing. 

Yet  scarcely,  with  the  severest  scrutiny,  could  I detect 
the  trace  of  age  or  suffering  on  her  face  or  form.  The 
calm  brow  was  as  white  and  calm  as  ever.  The  golden 
hair,  smoothly  braided  under  her  white  matronly  cap,  was 
as  free  from  gray  as  even  our  Agnes’,  who  was  flitting  in 
and  out  of  the  winter  sunshine,  busy  with  household  work 
in  the  next  room.  There  was  a roundness  on  the 
cheek,  although,  perhaps,  its  curve  was  a little  changed; 
and  when  she  looked  up  and  met  my  eyes,  was  there  not 
the  very  same  happy,  childlike  smile  as  ever,  that  seemed 
to  overflow  from  a world  of  sunshine  Within? 

“No!”  I said;  “Eva,  thank  God,  I have  not  deluded 
myself!  Time  has  not  stolen  a march  on  you  yet.” 

“Think  how  I have  been  shielded,  Fritz,”  she  said. 
“ What  a sunny  and  sheltered  life  mine  has  been,  never 
encountering  any  storm  except  under  the  shelter  of  such  a 
home  and  such  love.  But  Dr.  Luther  has  been  so  long  the 
one  foremost  and  highest,  on  whose  breast  the  first  force  of 
every  storm  has  burst.” 

Just  then  our  Heinz  came  in. 

“ Your  father  is  trying  to  prove  I am  not  growing  old,” 
she  said. 

“Who  said  such  a thing  of  our  mother?”  asked  Heinz, 
turning  fiercely  to  Agnes.  • 

“No  one,”  I said ; “but  it  startled  me  to  see  the  change 
in  Dr.  Luther,  and  I began  to  fear  what  changes  might 
have  been  going  on  unobserved  in  our  own  home.” 

“Is  Dr.  Luther  much  changed?”  said  Heinz.  “I  think 
I never  saw  a nobler  face,  so  resolute  and  true,  and  with 
such  a keen  glance  in  his  dark  eyes.  He  might  have  been 
one  of  the  emperor’s  greatest  generals,  he  looks  so  like  a 
veteran.” 


THE  SCIIONB  ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


419 


“Is  he  not  a veteran,  Heinz?”  said  Eva.  “Has  he  not 
fought  all  our  battles  for  us  for  years?  What  do  you  think 
of  him,  Agnes?” 

“I  remember  best  the  look  he  gave  my  father  and  you,” 
she  said.  “ His  face  looked  so  full  of  kindness;  I thought 
how  happy  he  must  make  his  home.” 

That  evening* was  naturally  a time,  with  Eva  and  me, 
for  going  over  the  past.  And  how  much  of  it  is  linked 
with  Hr.  Luther!  That  our  dear  home  exists  at  all  is, 
through  God,  his  work.  And  more  even  than  that;  the 
freedom  and  peace  of  our  hearts  came  to  us  chiefly  at  first 
through  him.  All  the  past  came  back  to  me  when  I saw 
his  face  again ; as  if  suddenly  flashed  on  me  from  a mirror. 
The  days  when  he  sang  before  Aunt  Ursula  Cotta’s  door 
at  Eisenach— when  the  voice  which  has  since  stirred  all 
Christendom  to  its  depths  sang  carols  for  a piece  of  bread. 
Then  the  gradual  passing  away  of  the  outward  trials  of 
poverty,  through  his  father’s  prosperity  and  liberality — the 
brilliant  prospects  opening  before  him  at  the  university — 
his  sudden,  yet  deliberate  closing  of  all  those  earthly 
schemes — the  descent  into  the  dark  and  bitter  waters,  where 
he  fought  the  fight  for  his  age,  and,  all  but  sinking,  found 
the  Hand  that  saved  him,  and  came  to  the  shore  again  on 
the  right  side;  and  not  alone,  but  upheld  evermore  by  the 
hand  that  rescued  him,  and  which  he  has  made  known  to 
the  hearts  of  thousands. 

Then  I seemed  to  see  him  stand  before  the  emperor  at 
Worms,  in  that  day  when  men  did  not  know  whether  to 
wonder  most  at  his  gentleness  or  his  daring — in  that  hour 
which  men  thought  was  his  hour  of  conflict  but  which  was  in 
truth  his  hour  of  triumph,  after  the  real  battle  had  been 
fought  and  the  real  victory  won. 

And  now  twenty  years  more  had  passed  away;  the  Bible 
has  been  translated  by  him  into  German,  and  is  speaking 
in  countless  homes;  homes  hallowed  (and,  in  many  in- 
stances, created)  by  his  teaching. 

“What  then,”  said  Eva,  “has  been  gained  by  his  teach- 
ing and  his  work?” 

“The  yoke  of  tradition,  and  of  the  papacy,  is  broken,” 
I said.  “ The  Gospel  is  preached  in  England,  and,  with 
more  or  less  result,  throughout  Germany.  In  Denmark, 
an  evangelical  pastor  has  consecrated  King  Christian  III. 
In  the  low  countries,  and  elsewhere,  men  and  women  have 


420 


THE  SCHONB ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY . 


been  martyred,  as  in  the  primitive  ages,  for  the  faith.  In 
France  and  in  Switzerland  evangelical  truth  has  been  em- 
braced by  tens  of  thousands,  although  not  in  Dr.  Luther's 
form,  nor  only  from  his  lips.” 

“ These  are  great  results,”  she  replied;  “but  they  are 
external — at  least,  we  can  only  see  the  outside  of  them. 
What  fruit  is  there  in  this  little  world,  around  us  at  Eis- 
leben,  of  whose  heart  we  know  something?” 

“The  golden  age  is,  indeed,  not  come,”  I said,  “or  the 
counts  of  Mansfeld  would  not  be  quarreling  about  church 
patronage,  and  needing  Dr.  Luther  as  a peacemaker.  Nor 
would  Dr.  Luther  need  so  continually  to  warn  the  rich 
against  avarice,  and  to  denounce  the  selfishness  which  spent 
thousands  of  florins  to  buy  exemption  from  future  punish- 
ment, but  grudges  a few  kreuzers  to  spread  the  glad  tid- 
ings of  the  grace  of  God.  If  covetousness  is  idolatry,  it  is 
too  plain  that  the  Reformation  has,  with  many,  only 
changed  the  idol.” 

“Yet,”  replied  Eva,  “it  is  certainly  something  to  have 
the  idol  removed  from  the  church  to  the  market,  to  have 
it  called  by  a despised  instead  of  by  a hallowed  name,  and 
disguised  in  any  rather  than  in  sacred  vestments.” 

Thus  we  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Reformation 
had  done  for  us  what  sunrise  does.  It  had  wakened  life, 
and  ripened  real  fruits  of  heaven  in  many  places,  and  it 
had  revealed  evil  and  noisome  things  in  their  true  forms. 
The  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil  remain  unchanged;  but 
it  is  much  to  have  learned  that  the  world  is  not  a certain 
definite  region  outside  the  cloister,  but  an  atmosphere  to 
be  guarded  against  as  around  us  everywhere,  that  the  flesh 
is  not  the  love  of  kindred  or  of  nature,  but  of  self  in  these , 
and  that  the  devil’s  most  fiery  dart  is  distrust  of  God. 
For  us  personally,  and  ours,  how  infinitely  much  Dr. 
Luther  has  done;  and  if  for  us  nd  ours,  how  much  for 
countless  other  hearts  and  homes  unknown  to  us! 

Monday,  February  15,  1543. 

Dr.  Luther  administered  the  communion,  yesterday, 
and  preached.  It  has  been  a great  help  to  have  him  going 
in  and  out  among  us.  Four  times  he  has  preached;  it 
seems  to  us,  with  as  much  point  and  fervor  as  ever.  To- 
day, however,  there  was  a deep  solemnity  about  his  words. 
His  text  was  in  Matt,  xi.,  “Fear  not  therefore*  for  there 


THE  JSCHOHB  ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY . 


421 


is  nothing  covered  that  shall  not  be  revealed,  and  hid 
that  shall  not  be  known.  What  I tell  you  in  darkness, 
that  speak  ye  in  light;  and  what  ye  hear  in  the  ear,  that 
preach  ye  on  the  house-tops.  And  fear  not  them  which 
kill  the  body,  but  are  not  able  to  kill  the  soul;  but  rather 
fear  him  which  is  able  to  destroy  both  soul  and  body  in 
hell.  Arc  not  two  sparrows  sold  for  a farthing?  And  one 
of  them  shall  not  fall  on  the  ground  without  your  Father. 
But  the  very  hairs  of  your  head  are  all  numbered.”  He 
must  have  felt  feebler  than  he  seemed,  for  he  closed  with 
the  words: 

“This,  and  much  more,  may  he  said  from  the  passage; 
but  I am  too  weak,  and  here  we  will  close” 

Eva  seemed  very  grave  all  the  rest  of  the  day;  and  when 
I returned  from  the  school  on  this  morning,  she  met  me 
with  an  anxious  face  at  the  door,  and  said: 

“Is  the  doctor  better?” 

“I  have  not  heard  that  he  is  ill,”  I said.  “He  was 
engaged  with  the  arbitration  again  to-day.” 

“I  cannot  get  those  words  of  his  out  of  my  head,”  she 
said;  “they  haunt  me — 4 Here  we  ivill  close.'  I cannot 
help  thinking  what  it  would  be  never  to  hear  that  faithful 
voice  again.” 

“ You  are  depressed,  my  love,”  I said,  “at  the  thought 
of  Dr.  Luther’s  leaving  us  this  week.  But  by  and  by  we 
will  stay  some  little  time  at  Wittenberg,  and  hear  him 
again  there.” 

“If  God  will,”  she  said  gravely.  “What  God  has  given 
us,  through  him,  can  never  be  taken  away.” 

I have  inquired  again  about  him,  however,  frequently 
to-day,  but  there  seems  no  cause  for  anxiety.  He  retired 
from  the  Great  Hall  where  the  conferences  and  the  meals 
take  place  at  eight  o’clock;  and  this  evening  as  often 
before  during  his  visit,  Dr.  Jonas  overheard  him  praying 
aloud  at  the  window  of  his  chamber. 

Thursday,  18th  February. 

The  worst— the  very  worst — has  come  to  pass.  The 
faithful  voice  is,  indeed,  silenced  to  us  on  earth  forever. 

Here  where  the  life  began  it  has  closed.  He  who,  sixty- 
three  years  ago,  lay  here  a little  helpless  babe,  lies  here 
again  a lifeless  corpse.  Yet  it  is  not  with  sixty-three  years 
ago,  but  with  three  days  since  that  we  feel  the  bitter  contrast. 


422  THE  SGHONBEUG-GOTTA  FAMIL  Y . 

Three  days  ago  he  was  among  us,  the  counselor,  the 
teacher,  the  messenger  of  God,  and  now  that  heart,  open, 
tender  to  sympathize  with  sorrows,  and  so  strong  to  bear 
a nation’s  burden,  has  ceased  to  beat. 

Yesterday  it  was  observed  that  he  was  feeble  and  ailing. 
The  princes  of  Anhalt  and  the  Count  Albert  of  Mansfeld, 
with  Dr.  Jonas  and  his  other  friends,  entreated  him  to  rest 
in  his  own  room  during  the  morning.  He  was  not  easily 
persuaded  to  spare  himself,  and  probably  would  not  have 
yielded  then,  had  he  not  felt  that  the  work  of  reconcilia- 
tion was  accomplished,  in  all  save  a few  supplementary 
details.  Much  of  the  forenoon,  therefore,  he  reposed  on  a 
leathern  couch  in  his  room,  occasionally  rising,  with  the 
restlessness  of  illness,  and  pacing  the  room,  and  standing 
in  the  window  praying,  so  that  Dr.  Jonas  and  Ccelius,  who 
were  in  another  part  of  the  room,  could  hear  him.  He 
dined,  however,  at  noon,  in  the  Great  Hall,  with  those 
assembled  there.  At  dinner  he  said  to  some  near  him,  “If 
I can,  indeed,  reconcile  the  rulers  of  my  birthplace  with 
each  other,  and  then,  with  God’s  permission,  accomplish 
the  journey  back  to  Wittenberg,  I would  go  home  and  lay 
myself  down  to  sleep  in  my  grave,  and  let  the  worms 
devour  my  body.” 

He  was  not  one  weakly  to  sigh  for  sleep  before  night; 
and  we  now  know  too  well  from  how  deep  a sense  of  bodily 
weariness  and  weakness  that  wish  sprang.  Tension  of 
heart  and  mind,  and  incessant  work,  the  toil  of  a daily 
mechanical  laborer,  with  the  keen,  wearying  thought  tff  the 
highest  intellectual  energy,  working  as  much  as  any  drudg- 
ing slave,  and  as  intensely  as  if  all  he  did  was  his  delight, 
at  sixty-three  the  strong,  peasant  frame  was  worn  out  as 
most  men’s  are  at  eighty,  and  he  longed  for  rest. 

In  the  afternoon  he  complained  of  painful  pressure  on 
the  breast,  and  requested  that  it  might  be  rubbed  with 
warm  cloths.  This  relieved  him  a little;  and  he  went  to 
supper  again  with  his  friends  in  the  Great  Hall.  At  table 
he  spoke  much  of  eternity,  and  said  he  believed  his  own  ’ 
death  was  near;  yet  his  conversation  was  not  only  cheerful, 
but  at  times  gay,  although  it  related  chiefly  to  the  future 
world.  One  near  him  asked  whether  departed  saints  would 
recognize  each  other  in  heaven.  He  said,  Yes,  he  thought 
they  would. 

When  he  left  the  supper-table  he  went  to  his  room. 


THE  SGHOJVB  ERG-GOTTA  FAMILY. 


423 


In  the  night,  last  night,  his  two  sons,  Paul  and  Martin, 
thirteen  and  fourteen  years  of  age,  sat  up  to  watch  with 
him,  with  Justus  Jonas,  whose  joys  and  sorrows  he  had 
shared  through  so  many  years.  Ccelius  and  Aurifaber  also 
were  with  him.  The  p.ain  in  the  breast  returned,  and 
again  they  tried  rubbing  him  with  hot  cloths.  Count 
Albert  came,  and  the  countess,  with  two  physicians,  and 
brought  him  some  shavings  from  the  tusk  of  a sea-unicorn, 
deemed  a sovereign  remedy.  He  took  it,  and  slept  till 
ten.  Then  he  awoke,  and  attempted  once  more  to  pace 
the  room  a little;  but  he  could  not,  and  returned  to  bed. 
Then  he  slept  again  till  one.  During  those  two  or  three 
hours  of  sleep,  his  host  Albrecht,  with  his  wife,  Ambrose, 
Jonas,  and  Luther’s  son,  watched  noiselessly  beside  him, 
quietly  keeping  up  the  fire.  Everything  depended  on  how 
long  he  slept,  and  how  he  woke. 

The  first  words  he  spoke  when  he  awoke  sent  a shudder 
of  apprehension  through  their  hearts. 

He  complained  of  cold,  and  asked  them  to  pile  up  more 
fire.  Alas!  the  chill  was  creeping  over  him  which  no 
effort  of  man  could  remove. 

Dr.  Jonas  asked  him  if  he  felt  very  weak. 

“Oh,”  he  replied,  “how  I suffer!  My  dear  Jonas,  I 
think  I shall  die  here,  at  Eisleben,  where  I was  born  and 
baptized.” 

His  other  friends  were  awakened,  and  brought  in  to  his 
bedside. 

Jonas  spoke  of  the  sweat  on  his  brow  as  a hopeful  sign, 
but  Dr.  Luther  answered : 

“It  is  the  cold  sweat  of  death.  I must  yield  up  my 
spirit,  for  my  sickness  increase th.” 

Then  he  prayed  fervently,  saying: 

“Heavenly  Father!  everlasting  and  merciful  God!  thou 
hast  revealed  to  me  thy  dear  Son,  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 
Him  have  I taught;  Him  have  I experienced;  Him  have  I 
confessed;  Him  I Jove  and  adore  as  my  beloved  Saviour, 
Sacrifice,  and*  Eedeemer — Him  whom  the  godless  persecute, 
dishonor,  and  reproach.  Oh,  heavenly  Father,  though  I 
must  resign  my  body,  and  be  borne  away  from  this  life,  I 
know  that  I shall  he  with  him  forever.  Take  my  poor 
soul  up  to  thee.” 

Afterward  he  took  a little  medicine,  and,  assuring  his 
friends  that  he  was  dying,  said  three  times; 


424 


THE  SCHONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


“ Father,  into  thy  hands  do  I commend  my  spirit.  Thou 
hast  redeemed  me,  thou  faithful  God.  Truly  God  hath  so 

loveddhe  world ! ” 

Then  he  lay  quite  quiet  and  motionless.  Those  around 
sought  to  rouse  him,  and  began  to  rub  his  chest  and  limbs, 
and  spoke  to  him,  but  he  made  no  reply.  Then  Jonas  and 
Ccelius,  for  the  solace  of  the  many  who  had  received  the 
truth  from  his  lips,  spoke  aloud,  and  said: 

“Venerable  father,  do  you  die  trusting  in  Christ,  and  in 
the  doctrine  you  have  constantly  preached?” 

He  answered  by  an  audible  and  joyful  “Yes!” 

That  was  his  last  word  on  earth.  Then,  turning  on  his 
right  side,  he  seemed  to  fall  peacefully  asleep  for  a quarter 
of  an  hour.  Once  more  hope  awoke  in  the  hearts  of  his 
children  and  his  friends;  but  the  physician  told  them  it 
was  no  favorable  symptom. 

A light  was  brought  near  his  face;  a death-like  paleness 
was  creeping  over  it,  and  his  hands  and  feet  were  becom- 
ing cold. 

Gently  once  more  he  sighed;  and,  with  hands  folded  on 
his  breast,  yielded  up  his  spirit  to  God  without  a struggle. 

This  was  at  four  o’clock  in  the  morning  of  the  18th  of 
February. 

And  now,  in  the  house  opposite  the  church  where  he  was 
baptized,  and  signed  with  the  cross  for  the  Christian  war- 
fare, Martin  Luther  lies — his  warfare  accomplished,  his 
weapons  laid  aside,  his  victory  won — at  rest  beneath  the 
standard  he  has  borne  so  nobly.  In  the  place  where  his 
eyes  opened  on  this  earthly  life  his  spirit  has  awakened  to 
the  heavenly  life.  Often  he  used  to  speak  of  death  as  the 
Christian’s  true  birth,  and  this  life  as  but  a growing  into 
the  chrysalis-shell  in  which  the  spirit  lives  till  its  being  is 
developed,  and  it  bursts  the  shell,  casts  off  the  web,  strug- 
gles into  life,  spreads  its  wings  and  soars  up  to  God. 

To  Eva  and  me  it  seems  a strange,  myterious  seal  set  on 
his  faith,  that  his  birthplace  and  his  place  of  death — the 
scene  of  his  nativity  to  earth  and  heaven — should  be  the 
same. 

We  can  only  say,  amid  irrepressible  tears,  those  words 
often  on  his  lips,  “Oh  death!  bitter  to  those  whom  thou 
leaveat  in  life!”  and  “Fear  not,  God  liveth  still” 


THE  8CH 0NBEUQ-00 TTA  FAMILY,  425 

else’s  story. 

March,  1546. 

It  is  all  over.  The  beloved,  revered  form  is  with  us 
again,  but  Luther  our  father,  our  pastor,  our  friend,  will 
never  be  among  us  more.  His  ceaseless  toil  and  care  for 
us  all  have  worn  him  out,  the  care  which  wastes  life  more 
than  sorrow,  care  such  as  no  man  knew  since  the  apostle 
Paul,  which  only  faitli  such  as  St.  Paul’s  enabled  him  to 
sustain  so  long. 

This  morning  his  widow,  his  orphan  sons  and  daughter, 
and  many  of  the  students  and  citizens,  went  out  to  the 
eastern  gate  of  the  city  to  meet  the  funeral  procession. 
Slowly  it  passed  through  the  streets,  so  crowded,  yet  so 
silent,  to  the  city  church  where  he  used  to  preach. 

Fritz  came  with  the  procession  from  Eisleben,  and  Eva, 
with  Heinz  and  Agnes,  are  also  with  us,  for  it  seemed  a 
necessity  to  our  mother  once  more  to  feel  and  see  her  beloved 
around  her,  now  that  death  has  shown  us  the  impotence 
of  a nation’s  love  to  retain  the  life  dearest  and  most  needed 
of  all. 

Fritz  has  been  telling  us  of  that  mournful  funeral  jour- 
ney from  Eisleben. 

The  counts  of  Mansfeld,  with  more  than  fifty  horsemen, 
and  many  princes,  counts,  and  barons,  accompanied  the 
coffin.  In  every  village  through  which  they  passed  the 
church-bells  tolled  as  if  for  the  prince  of  the  land;  at  every 
city  gate  magistrates,  clergy,  young  and  old,  matrons, 
maidens,  and  little  children, thronged  to  meet  the  procession, 
clothed  in  mourning,  and  chanting  funeral  hymns — Ger- 
man evangelical  hymns  of  hope  and  trust,  such  as  he  had 
taught  them  to  sing.  In  the  last  church  in  which  it  lay 
before  its  final  resting  place  at  Wittenberg,  the  people 
gathered  around  it,  and  sang  one  of  his  own  hymns,  44 1 
journey  hence  in  peace,”  with  voices  broken  by  sobs  and 
floods  of  tears. 

Thus  day  and  night  the  silent  body  was  borne  slowly 
through  the  Thuringian  land.  The  peasants  once  more  re- 
membered his  faithful  affection  for  them,  and  everywhere, 
from  village  and  hamlet,  and  every  little  group  of  cottages, 
weeping  men  and  women  pressed  forward  to  do  honor  to 
the  poor  remains  of  him  they  had  so  often  misunderstood 
in  life, 


426 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


After  Pastor  Bugenhagen’s  funeral  sermon  from  Luther’s 
pulpit,  Melancthon  spoke  a few  words  beside  the  coffin  in 
the  city  church.  They  loved  each  other  well.  When 
Melancthon  heard  of  his  death  he  was  most  deeply  affected, 
and  said  in  the  lecture-room: 

“ The  doctrine  of  the  forgiveness  of  sins  and  of  faith  in 
the  Son  of  God,  has  not  been  discovered  by  any  human 
understanding,  but  has  been  revealed  unto  us  by  God 
through  this  man  whom  He  has  raised  up.” 

' In  the  city  church,  beside  the  coffin,  before  the  body  was 
lowered  into  its  last  resting  place  near  the  pulpit  where  he 
preached,  Dr.  Melancthon  pronounced  these  words  in 
Latin,  which  Caspar  Creutziger  immediately  translated 
into  German: 

“ Every  one  who  truly  knew  him,  must  bear  witness  that 
he  was  a benevolent,  charitable  man,  gracious  in  all  his 
discourse,  kindly  and  most  worthy  of  love,  and  neither 
rash,  passionate,  self-willed,  or  ready  to  take  offense. 
And,  nevertheless,  there  were  also  in  him  an  earnestness 
and  courage  in  his  words  and  bearing  such  as  become  a 
man  like  him.  His  heart  was  true  and  faithful,  and  with- 
out falsehood.  The  severity  which  he  used  against  the  foes 
of  the  doctrine  in  his  writings  did  not  proceed  from  a 
quarrelsome  or  angry  disposition,  but  from  great  earnest- 
ness and  zeal  for  the  truth.  He  always  showed  a high 
courage  and  manhood,  and  it  was  no  little  roar  of  the 
enemy  which  could  appall  him.  Menaces,  dangers,  and 
terror  dismayed  him  not.  So  high  and  keen  was  his  under- 
standing, that  he  alone  in  complicated,  dark,  and  difficult 
affairs  soon  perceived  what  was  to  be  counseled  and  to  be 
done.  Neither,  as  some  think,  was  he  regardless  of 
authority,  but  diligently  regarded  the  mind  and  will  of 
those  with  whom  he  had  to  do.  His  doctrine  did  not  con- 
sist in  rebellious  opinions  made  known  with  violence;  it  is 
rather  an  interpretation  of  the  divine  will  and  of  the  true 
worship  of  God,  an  explanation  of  the  Word  of  God, 
namely,  of  the  Gospel  of  Christ.  Now  he  is  united  with 
the  prophets  of  whom  he  loved  to  talk.  Now  they  greet 
him  as  their  fellow-laborer,  and  with  him  praise  the  Lord 
who  gathers  and  preserves  his  church.  But  we  must  retain 
a perpetual,  undying  recollection  of  this  our  beloved  father, 
and  never  let  his  memory  fade  from  our  hearts.” 

His  effigy  will  be  placed  in  the  city  church,  but  his  liv- 


THE  SCHOJSTB ERG-COTTA  FAMILY . 


427 


ing  portrait  is  enshrined  in  countless  hearts.  His  monu- 
ments are  the  schools  throughout  the  land,  every  hallowed 
pastor’s  home,  and  above  all,  “the  German  Bible  for  the 
German  people!” 

Wittenberg,  April,  1547. 

We  stand  now  in  the  foremost  rank  of  the  generations 
of  our  time.  Our  father’s  house  on  earth  has  passed  away 
forever.  Gently,  not  long  after  Dr.  Luther’s  death,  our 
gentle  mother  passed  away,  and  our  father  entered  on  the 
fulfillment  of  those  never-failing  hopes  to  which,  since  his 
blindness,  his  buoyant  heart  has  learned  more  and  more  to 
cling. 

Scarcely  separated  a year  from  each  other,  both  in  ex- 
treme old  age,  surrounded  by  all  dearest  to  them  on  earth, 
they  fell  asleep  in  Jesus. 

And  now  Fritz,  who  has  an  appointment  at  the  univer- 
sity, lives  in  the  paternal  house  with  his  Eva  and  our 
Thekla,  and  the  children. 

Of  all  our  family  I sometimes  think  Thekla’s  life  is  the 
most  blessed.  In  our  evangelical  church,  also,  I perceive, 
God  by  his  providence  makes  nuns;  good  women,  whose 
wealth  of  love  is  poured  out  in  the  church,  whose  inner  as 
well  as  whose  outer  circle  is  the  family  of  God.  How 
many  whom  she  has  trained  in  the  school  and  nursed  in  the 
seasons  of  pestilence  or  adversity,  live  on  earth  to  call  her 
blessed,  or  live  in  heaven  to  receive  her  into  the  everlasting 
habitations. 

The  little  garden  behind  the  Augustei,  has  become  a 
sacred  place.  Luther’s  widow  and  children  still  live  there. 
Those  who  knew  him,  and  therefore  loved  him  best,  find  a- 
sad  pleasure  in  lingering  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees 
which  used  to  shelter  him,  beside  the  fountain  and  the 
little  fish-pond  which  he  made,  and  the  flowers  he  planted, 
and  recalling  his  words  and  his  familiar  ways;  how  he  used 
to  thank  God  for  the  fish  from  the  pond,  and  the  vege- 
tables sent  to  his  table  from  the  garden;  how  he  used  to 
wonder  at  the  providence  of  God,  who  fed  the  sparrows 
and  all  the  little  birds,  “ which  must  cost  Him  more  in  a 
year  than  the  revenue  of  the  king  of  France;”  how  he 
rejoiced  in  the  “dew,  that  wonderful  work  of  God,”  and 
the  rose,  which  no  artist  could  imitate,  and  the  voice  of 
the  birds.  How  living  the  narratives  of  the  Bible  became 


428 


THE  SCHONBERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 


when  he  spoke  of  them!  of  the  great  apostle  Paul  whom 
he  so  honored,  but  pictured  as  “an  insignificant-looking, 
meager  man,  like  Philip  Melancthon;  ” or  of  the  Virgin 
Mary,  “who  must  have  been  a high  and  noble  creature, 
a fair  and  gracious  maiden,  with  a kind,  sweet  voice;”  or 
of  the  lowly  home  at  Nazareth,  “where  the  Saviour  of  the 
world  was  brought  up  as  a little  obedient  child.” 

And  not  one  of  us,  with  all  his  vehemence,  could  ever 
remember  a jealous  or  suspicious  word,  or  a day  of  estrange- 
ment, so  generous  and  trustful  was  his  nature. 

Often,  also,  came  back  to  us  the  tones  of  that  rich,  true 
voice,  and  of  the  lute  or  lyre,  which  used  so  frequently  to 
sound  from  the  dwelling-room  with  the  large  window,  at 
his  friendly  entertainments,  or  in  his  more  solitary  hours. 

Then,  in  twilight  hours  of  quiet,  intimate  converse, 
Mistress  Luther  can  recall  to  us  the  habits  of  his  more 
inner  home  life — how  in  his  sickness  he  used  to  comfort 
her,  and  when  she  was  weeping,  would  say,  with  irrepres- 
sible tears,  “Dear  Kathe,  our  children  trust  us,  though 
they  cannot  understand;  so  must  we  trust  God.  It  is  well 
if  we  do;  all  comes  from  him.”  And  his  prayers  morning 
and  evening,  and  frequently  at  meals  and  at  other  times  in 
the  day — his  devout  repeating  of  the  Smaller  Catechism, 
“to  God” — his  frequent  fervent  utterance  of  the  Lord’s 
Prayer,  or  of  psalms  from  the  Psalter,  which  he  always 
carried  with  him  as  a pocket  prayer-book..  Or,  at  other 
times,  she  may  speak  reverently  of  his  hours  of  conflict, 
when  his  prayers  became  a tempest — a torrent  of  vehement 
supplication — a wrestling  with  God,  as  a son  in  agony  at 
the  feet  of  a father.  Or,  again,  of  his  sudden  wakings  in 
the  night,  to  encounter  the  unseen  devil  with  fervent 
prayer,  or  scornful  defiance,  or  words  of  truth  and  faith. 

More  than  one  among  us  knew  what  reason  he  had  to 
believe  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer.  Melancthon,  especially, 
can  never  forget  the  day  when  he  lay  at  the  point  of  death, 
half  unconscious,  with  eyes  growing  dim,  and  Luther  came 
and  exclaimed  with  dismay: 

“God  save  us!  how  successfully  has  the  devil  misused 
this  mortal  frame!” 

And  then  turning  from  the  company  toward  the  window, 
to  pray,  looking  up  to  the  heavens,  he  came,  as  he  himself 
said  afterward,  “as  a mendicant  and  a suppliant  to  God, 
and  pressed  him  with  all  the  promises  of  the  holy  Scrip- 


THE  8GE0NB ERG-GO TTA  FAMILY.  429 

tures  he  could  recall;  so  that  God  must  hear  me,  if  ever 
again  I should  trust  his  promises.” 

After  that  prayer,  he  took  Melancthon  by  the  hand,  and 
said,  “Be  of  good  cheer,  Philip,  you  will  not  die.”  And 
from  that  moment  Melancthon  began  to  revive  and  recover 
consciousness,  and  was  restored  to  health. 

Especially,  however,  we  treasure  all  he  said  of  death  and 
the  resurrection,  of  heaven  and  the  future  world  of  right- 
eousness and  joy,  of  which  he  so  delighted  to  speak.  A few 
of  these  I may  record  for  my  children. 

“ In  the  papacy,  they  made  pilgrimages  to  the  shrines  of 
the  saints — to  Rome,  Jerusalem,  St.  Jago — to  atone  for 
sins.  But  now,  we  in  faith  can  make  true  pilgrimages, 
which  really  please  God.  When  Ave  diligently  read  the 
prophets,  psalms,  and  evangelists,  we  journey  toward  God, 
not  through  cities  of  the  saints,  but  in  our  thoughts  and 
hearts,  and  visit  the  true  promised  land  and  paradise  of 
everlasting  life. 

“The  devil  has  sworn  our  death,  but  he  will  crack  a deaf 
nut.  The  kernel  will  be  gone.” 

He  had  so  often  been  dangerously  ill,  that  the  thought 
of  death  was  very  familiar  to  him.  In  one  of  his  sicknesses 
he  said,  “ I know  I shall  not  live  long.  My  brain  is  like  a 
knife  worn  to  the  hilt;  it  can  cut  no  longer.” 

“At  Coburg  I used  to  go  about  and  seek  for  a quiet  place 
where  I might  be  buried,  and  in  the  chapel  under  the  cross 
I thought  I could  lie  well.  But  now  I am  worse  than 
then.  God  grant  me  a happy  end!  I have  no  desire  to 
live  longer.” 

When  asked  if  people  could  be  saved  under  the  papacy 
who  had  never  beard  his  doctrine  of  the  Gospel,  he  said, 
“ Many  a monk  have  I seen,  before  whom,  on  his  deathbed, 
they  held  the  crucifix,  as  was  then  the  custom.  Through 
faith  in  His  merits  and  passion,  they  may,  indeed,  have 
been  saved.” 

“What  is  our  sleep,”  he  said,  “but  a kind  of  death? 
And  what  is  death  itself  but  a night-sleep?  In  sleep  all 
weariness  is  laid  aside,  and  we  become  cheerful  again,  and 
rise  in  the  morning  fresh  and  well.  So  shall  we  awake 
from  our  graves  in  the  last  day,  as  though  we  had  only 
slept  a night,  and  bathe  our  eyes  and  rise  fresh  and  well.” 
“Oh  gracious  God!”  he  exclaimed,  “come  quickly,  come 
at  last!  I wait  ever  for  that  day — that  morning  of  spring!” 


430  the  SCIIONB  ERG-COTTA  FAMILY. 

And  he  waits  for  it  still.  Not  now,  indeed,  on  earth, 
“in  what  kind  of  place  we  know  not,”  as  he  said;  “but 
most  surely  free  from  all  grief  and  pain;  resting  in  peace 
and  in  the  love  and  grace  of  God.” 

We  also  wait  for  that  Day  of  Redemption,  still  in  the 
weak  flesh  and  amid  the  storm  and  the  conflict;  but  strong 
and  peaceful  in  the  truth  Martin  Luther  taught  us,  and  in 
the  God  he  trusted  to  the  last. 


XHS  MX®* 


• s 


